


All Our Augmented Yesterdays and Psychic Tomorrows

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [27]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Violence, Miscarriage, Other, Polyamorous Pack, Polyamory, ipreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 31,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16650556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: When a freak dekyon storm causes John and Sherlock's shuttle craft to crash on a world in the grips of a nuclear winter, Sherlock finds the surroundings strangely familiar.When they find signs that Sherlock's parents were recently on planet, Sherlock hopes to discover clues to what events led to his memory loss as a child. What they discover instead, may change everything.





	1. Mycroft's POV

**Author's Note:**

> So... take your last chance to speculate as to what's going on with the Breen.
> 
> As to timing, this occurs right after "Who Mourns for Ganymede". John is still 30. He and Sherlock have known each other for over a decade.
> 
> Based on the original Star Trek episode "All Our Yesterdays"

Mycroft ordered a new suit from Elim Garak, but did not tell him what it was for. Not that he ever did, which was one of the many pleasures of that relationship.

Elim wanted to be lied to. Have obfuscations trailed in front of him like veils upon the ground.

"That is how I know that this is for a significant event," said Elim with a little smirk. A tilt of a smile that implied he already knew everything. A technique that might work to elicit confidences if the recipient were anyone other than Mycroft. "You've told me nothing. Haven't bothered to lie at all." Then all business, Elim explained the best methods to care for the folds in the fabric. The proper method to wash it – sonic bath, never water. There were a few subtle – really Elim was an artist – comments designed to elicit information in the form of instructions.

Mycroft took the suit silently and left as he'd come. Alone.

He'd invited Elim a time or two on a few of Mummy's less important ventures. Not that Mummy approved, but Mummy approved of so little. At least now that Chin had taken up with Billy, some of the pressure was off of Mycroft. As to why Sherlock was free to be pressureless once he escaped the family home so to speak, Mummy had shared the reason long ago when Mycroft had been just fourteen.

He'd thought himself such an adult. Now he understood just how young he'd been. The nature of the pressure Mummy had placed on him. That reminder that caring was not an advantage.

And Mummy wondered why Mycroft had no desire for children.

Mycroft went to the designated location on a Breen space station. Transport to the original Breen home world was via long range Transporter. The Breen had made that invention long before a Federation Human had rediscovered it.

No warp trail signatures left behind to indicate the location of where they were headed. Nothing on the planet itself to indicate how important it was regarded.

In of itself, it was merely a world devastated by a nuclear winter. The sign of a species that had destroyed itself. Like many worlds across the galaxy. Mycroft had made something of a study of them.

Their destination was carefully shielded from the radiation for a variety of reasons.

A historical example that the other Alignments could be clever when they wished. No need now that they had their 23rd Alignment to do their genomic dirty work. Trailed the opportunity for power and the full might of the Breen Confederacy of Alignments behind them like so many veils.

Of course, Mummy reached for them. Of course. Tinker with their own children. Create a Euros. Craft Sherlock. Tinker with Mycroft's own genome. Attempt to reverse what damage the Breen had done to themselves long ago. Sacrifice what they were expected to sacrifice. All in attempt to capture what was trailed in front of them.

Power.

All while shared certain truths with the other Khans. Concealing others. Mycroft knew Mummy was right, Noonian at least would never have agreed and then where would they be. Frozen in sleep. In Mycroft's case, he wouldn't exist.

There were so many times over the years Mycroft had come close to saying something and yet had held silent.

Mycroft was not bitter. It would crease the lovely suit that Elim had made for this occasion he knew nothing about.

Mycroft had been considering, perhaps, if Elim would still speak to him when all plots were said and done – as if that would ever occur – proposing that they own a cat together. He'd done some research on various breeds. The file was getting thick.

He was still thinking about that as he arrived on the Breen home world.

Mummy was dressed in an elegant black and silver suit as if going to a funeral.

The other Khans were more festive in their colorful attire. But then, they had no reason to know the Conchordia Ancestrum wasn't simply a variation on the annual Meiosis of Alignments. A ceremony to be endured. A distraction from their end goal of empire.

Not that they spoke much to each other. They'd maintained a polite distance after Euros had proved such a… disastrous attempt to meet the other Alignment's requests for certain additions to the genome. But relations between the Khans had eased now that their new ally gave them a renewed focus on their long term project. Mycroft was no longer reduced to shuttling messages between the lot of them.

Mycroft straightened the perfect lines on his suit. Reminded himself caring was not an advantage. That tensions might rise again after the Conchordia Ancestrum came to some form of conclusion, or no conclusion at all. Given the nature of things, there might not be a sign that anything had happened at all. After all, there was no way to know when certain key events had and would occur. Mycroft could not bring himself to suggest he arrange each detail, given what that would mean.

They gathered in the Temple of the Ancestors. Each members of each alignment visiting the chapel of their ancestors.

The Khans and their entourages were their own ancestors. Therefore their chapel was sparse to say the least. But they paid their respects to their genome. Mycroft pretended not to hear Noonian Singh say a prayer in Hindi for Victor. Joining Grendel's prayers for the children they'd both left behind on Earth long ago. Meiying declined to pray.

They gathered in the temple's main chamber. Incense smoke curled about the chamber. The arching dome of the roof dark. The space only lit by thick tallow candles on tall brass stanchions and the golden light sparkling within the ancient arch of the Atavachron at the center of the room.

"They've never turned that on," said Meiying. She glanced at Mycroft. "Are we intended to go through it?"

Mummy answered. "Not us." They were pale and tense. Their eyes hot with gathering tears. Mycroft reminded himself that caring was not advantage and went to stand next to them. He did not look at the stained glass windows above them.

He'd learned the words to the song that the other alignments sang the year he'd learned what Mummy knew.

What all the Breen knew and argued and went to war over.

Except the 23rd Alignment in their semi-isolation. Part of the Confederacy and yet not. Chasing after veils. Then again, taken at face value the song was simply about the persistence of mitochondrial and Y-chromosomes DNA.

He couldn't bring himself to sing. Listened as the sound filled the room with rolling resonance.

He didn't realize that he'd been crying until Sherlock and John, naked and looking a bit like Robinson Caruso towards the end of his time on the island, tumbled out of the Atavachron's energy field. They fell to the tiled floor and vomited.

All around the other Breen from the other alignments stopped singing and got down on one knee.

Mummy, tears streaming down their own face, said, "Sherlock, you came back to us. You were able to go and come back as I had hardly dared hope."

"What have you done?" said Noonian in a hard voice at the same moment Meiying said, "What is this?"

"It's everything," said Veema from the 1st Alignment. "The 1st Alignment will stand with you on your upcoming venture."

The other alignments soon added their agreement. Falling in line with the 1st Alignment. Except the 22nd, which abstained, as was typical.

Mycroft dashed at the tears on his cheeks and ordered the medics he'd had standing by in hope to take his brother and his brother-in-law to the medical facility next door. For all that he winced to think of Sherlock lying once again on one of those bio-beds. No longer so small and still, but he made sure it was a different one this time. Hardly caring if he wrinkled the suit.

Caring was not an advantage when there was work to be done.


	2. Sherlock's POV - Four Weeks Later

The shuttle 221C creaked and rattled at the force of the dekyon storm. Subspace pulses intensifying the quantum flux.

"Not good," said John in an annoying repetition.

"I am aware of that."

"We need to take shelter on a planet. Preferably one with an atmosphere."

"I am also aware of that."

Sherlock was also aware that he was the one who had suggested that they could outrun the storm in time to reach the Bakerstreet, which mercifully John had not brought up.

Then again, their visit with John's family had reached its natural conclusion. John mother wanted to know when they were going to give her grandchildren to spoil.

Since Sherlock still ached over the children he had lost after the encounter with Apollo and Dionysus, since John had changed the subject, since Sherlock had yet to find a way to ask if John wanted to choose to attempt to have children, the atmosphere had become increasingly tense.

Which left them racing a dekyon storm.

Sherlock checked the scanners. There was one world at the edge of their route. "I've found a planet. It's a non-federation world. I am detecting high levels of radiation and planet wide ice. Based on radiation concentration patterns, I believe there was nuclear war in the past."

"Radiation levels, are they within a livable range?" asked John

"I can land us away from the main clusters of radiation. It should be fine for our purposes of crashing."

"Okay, got atmo, let's travel," said John, whose grip on his chair was getting increasingly white knuckled.

Sherlock concentrated on maintaining control of navigation. It was not easy. The interference from the dekyon waves were causing distortions in the navigation systems. Even visual navigation was distorted. They were surrounded by thin silvered ribbons in space that sent back racing reflections of their own craft.

Thus the landing was not his best effort. That he managed to land at all was a testament to his skill as a pilot. Although, excellent reflexes were nothing he could take credit for having. He even managed to bring them down near a cluster of buildings in the equatorial mountains.

John peered out the cracked view screen. Snow flurried past the window. "I see why they abandoned it."

Sherlock looked around him. The mountains looming over the valley, the ice cliffs, everything was strangely familiar. As if in a dream.

_"There are nine years you don't remember," said Mycroft. "And you never will. Our parents will never tell you. I'll never tell you. It could be a fragment of a memory. Or you could just be filling in a pattern. You've been to several worlds just like this. Places that destroyed themselves long ago."_

_Below his feet, the inland ocean in the basement of his mind surged with a sudden icy squall._

There was a high pitched beeping noise. John grabbed his hand. "Sherlock, we've got to go." He pulled him forward. They were approximately one hundred meters away when the fusion unit exploded, lifting them off their feet and throwing them another thirty meters forward.

"Well, that's…" Snow swirled in the wind over them. Dry and light. "Bad." John shivered in the cold. "We have to get inside before our core body temperature drops further."

"'Obvious." Sherlock helped John struggle against the wind and into the largest building's airlock.

"What happened out there?" asked John dusting off the snow.

"Nothing. I just… for a moment this location appeared to be familiar." He looked around him. No sense of strange memories here, and really it was nothing he wanted to discuss just then.

On the other side of the airlock, they came into a wide round room full of circular benches around a metal arch in the center of the room. All around the room, were flickering fat yellow candles on one meter high brass stanchions. The walls were lined with incense sensors that emitted a thick bluish smoke. The scent was actually pleasant. It should have been triggering allergic reactions in both of them, but instead, it evoked thoughts of pleasant afternoons with John.

John looked around them. "What is this place?" He examined a candle, which had mostly burned down to the stanchion. "Where are the inhabitants? Someone had to have lit these."

Sherlock looked up at the stained glass window depicting a rounded fertility figure, whose defining characteristic was its fecundity. A Priapus knelt in front of it. "I would speculate a religious site, but require more information.

John followed his gaze and coughed a laugh at the Priapus, whose member was erect and towered over its head. "And what exactly do think these people worship?"

Sherlock did not care to answer just yet. There were other versions of the figures in alcoves in the walls. Humanoids. At least one representation of a large feline. Some figures with faces not unlike Earth ardvarks menacing the humanoids.

At set intervals were twenty-three doors all around the room.

They investigated each of them. Finding more figures. Pebbles mortared together into spiraling shapes that looked not unlike DNA. Hundreds of thousands of them. One or two words in a script that niggled at his memory were written on them. He could read them, but they didn't mean anything to him. Veema. Pavan. Just words.

The final room was… unexpected. Sherlock stopped in the door.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. His blue eyes full of concern.

Away from the candles and the incense, Sherlock could make out the scents of his parents. He could see when John recognized Mycroft's scent. John said, "What is going on?"

"I don't know." Sherlock did not like knowing. He particularly did not like not knowing under these circumstances. There were no fertility figures in the smaller chamber. But there four photographs on the wall. Each of his parents surrounded by their followers and one with them together.  

"There's Grendel. A lot younger though," said John. "Must have been taken right after the Breen popped them out of their cryo-sleep." He looked closer. "I don't see a picture of Mycroft though. Shouldn't you be here? Chin? Euros?"

Sherlock went closer and examined the grouped image of his parents. "There are no children in any of these pictures."

Beneath it were a few stones, like in the other rooms. Three short spirals. Little more than a stack. The words written here were more meaningful. Mycroft Holmes. Chin Singh. He touched the stones, but whatever significance was assigned to them was not conveyed by touch. There as no stone for Sherlock or Euros. Nor for the brother Sherlock couldn’t remember, Victor.

Still, he remembered what Chin had told him on Bencia. The waves of the memory blending with the sound of his inner sea. "Chin said that she discovered I hadn't died after she completed the run of the ancestors on the old Breen home world. That whatever occurred, whatever Euros did to me happened there."

_Lights turned on throughout his memory palace. Windows were flung open._

"This must be the home world. There may still be evidence here. Records. Something to tell me what happened."

John's face lit up. "That's wonderful, Sherlock." A fleeting kiss. A comforting squeeze of his hand.

In the wide round chamber, an energy field flickered to life in the metal arch at the center of the room. Gold and yellow light rippled across its surface onto a vista overlooking a rain darkened landscape. Sherlock could hear water falling on stones.

On the other side of the arch, someone screamed.

John, predictably, grabbed one of the candle stanchions and ran in the direction of the scream. Right through the arch.

"John, no!" Sherlock jumped after him, even as some part of him said that he should stay behind to ensure there were a way back. Even as he thought that he'd follow John into hell's heart if he had to. Then he was through and the building was gone.


	3. John's POV

John emerged in the midst of a warm torrential downpour. It was difficult to see anything through the rain.

A massive creature with long serrated fangs reared up over a humanoid on the ground holding up a pitiful little spear.

John yelled and waved the metal candle holder, wishing he had something a bit more substantial.

The creature turned in his direction. A mistake it did not survive. Sherlock jumped on its back, snapping its neck, just as an immense saber toothed cat leapt at the creature, missing both of them as the creature toppled.

John prepared to swing the candle holder at the cat to hold it off Sherlock.

"No!" shouted the figure, their features obscured in the rain. "That's Toby, my cat."

"Your cat!" shouted John back.

"Since he was a kitten."

John turned, but he could not see the energy portal that had brought them there.

"Don't bother," said the figure. "It'll have closed almost as soon as you went through. I'm Mollyhoo. The Fenisal took my ring, but it was silver. So, let's get the pronoun game solved right away. I consider myself female. And if you can't scent it in this awful downpour, I'm an omega, of course. I don't even know why, I even brought it up. Never mind…Not that I can ever can scent it. I'm missing the vasopressin 1b receptor gene… umm… that's part of our olfactory system that allows me to scent the difference between alphas and omegas,

She had a deep cut just above her right eyebrow. Red blood snaked down over her cheek. John wasn't Sherlock to deduce oceans from a drop of rain, but even he could parse omega as a reference to Augments. Anyway, the only society John'd encountered that used rings to indicate their preferred gender determination were Augments from Earth. He shouted introductions while she bent down by the creature with an obsidian knife. She nodded absently and crooned to the dead animal. "Aren't you a beauty! Dress you here, dress you in the cave? Hmmm…"

Mollyhoo was too young to be one of the original Augments. A child perhaps. She could also be one of the Augments that the Breen kept kidnapping. Too complicated a question for the moment. "Where are we?" yelled John to be heard over the sound of the rain.

She must have misheard him. Because she said, "The meat! It'll feed all of us for a week and it has ever so many other useful parts." Mollyhoo waved her hands enthusiastically. "Maybe between the three of us we could get the whole thing back to the cave. We have a cave by the way. First thing we did. Found shelter. Oh, but… even the fangs and poison pouches on this beauty can be used as a topical analgesic not to mention all this lovely fur."

Sherlock sighed grabbed one of the creature's legs and pulled. Since John knew very well how strong Sherlock was, he left his brilliant husband to do the heavy lifting while he kept an eye for other predators. Given her lack of the same level of strength, plus the lack of vasopressin 1b receptor gene seemed to indicate that maybe Mollyhoo was a regular Augment like himself. He really hoped this wasn't where Augments unrelated to the various Khans' followers had been sent by the Breen.

Unaware of his thoughts, Mollyhoo laughed. "Sherlock, you really are strong, which is wonderful. We could use a little muscle. Not that it'll help when we're in season, but other times. That would be good. Oh, let's see. The cave system. We found has this gallery of stalactites and stalagmites full of salt crystals. So, we have salt. No other seasonings, but we have salt." She rubbed Toby's head. "And someone will get some yummy liver. Oh, yes you will. Sarabeth, she's my special someone, thinks we could use the bones to make tools. Awls. Needles, which," she glanced at their soaking wet clothes, "let me tell you take good care of that fabric, because it's the last you'll wear not made out of rodent skins or felt from Toby's fur." She waved at her own body, which was clothed in a tube of felt. She did a little dance. "We have a big beautiful hide to skin. I sort of know how to skin an animal."

"Boil the bones too for the calcium," said John. He tapped his forehead at Mollyhoo's look. "Ta. I'm a doctor while Sherlock just knows too much about everything."

"Oh, oh." She held a hand against her chest. "Really. Um…pathogenic gonadotropic symbiosis."

Sherlock glared at her. "You're just saying words."

"But, but, but, you knew that." She clapped. "This is wonderful. I'm the only one here with any science background and that's mostly about things that kill or don't kill people. Speaking of which I umm… I hope you have strong intestinal tracts. The past is made of diarrhea. Not literally, but close. Sorry, it's just no one came through after we all arrived. Given the way the time dilation works, I didn’t think anyone could come through unless it were hundreds of years later or earlier. Wait, what are you holding?"

John looked at the candle holder. "Uh. I heard you scream. It was the first thing to hand in the temple."

"It's metal. They let you come through with a metal object. We can… actually I don't know if we can smelt that down and make things out of it, but we can try. Also, what temple?" asked Mollyhoo. "None of us came through a temple. Didn't you come through the science facility built into the Calla Valley Dam?"

"No, it was some sort of… I think it was a temple. There was certainly no dam," said John, carefully picking his way up the narrow trail. The rain had lightened from buckets of water to merely a steady rain. Every centimeter of fabric on his skin clung to his skin. "Are you from the Federation? Earth?"

She laughed. "I don't know what countries those are, but no. I'm a local girl. My crèche thought about immigrating south to the Confederation, but we couldn't get the visas before Sarpeidon cracked down." She shook her head. "This doesn't make any sense. First of all, I'm no temporal scientist, but the Atavachron requires a tremendous amount of power. That's why Sarpeidon built it next to the dam. That and as a great um… screw you to the Breenava. After all, this is generally thought to be where some of the first signs of Breenava civilization started and so of course the Fenisal put it under water." A statement that had John's brain stuttering. Not helped by her next remark. "The Atavachron only creates temporal portals. I mean, yes, it does transport you in space in that we don't all emerge in a cold vacuum because the planet and for that matter our solar system are constantly moving, but it locks on the temporal and spatial location of the same place."

Sherlock shifted hands hauling the creature. "When are we?"

Mollyhoo stepped over a log. "What they didn't tell you in that temple of yours?" She shook her head. "The tribunal that presided over my 'trial' wouldn't shut up about how Sarpeidon the Great, glorious leader of the Fenisal race, was sending us back through the Atavachron to the dawn of time to the doom of my pestilential vermin race. You know, basic Fenisal prejudice with an extra bit of crazy because Sarpeidon's well… not exactly well hinged."

John blurted. "Breen are Augments, but this makes no sense. She mentioned silver rings. That's not even a point of evolution. It's a cultural thing. An Earth Human Augment cultural thing. A twenty-first century cultural thing."

Sherlock gave an aggrieved sigh and even in the rain John could make out the little boy bravado look that said Sherlock was about to admit something, which back home generally meant something had exploded. Sure enough, he said, "Yes, yes, the Breen are Human Augments. It never seemed particularly relevant. Mummy told me they originated on a parallel Earth. Except," he shifted his hold on the creature. "The continents aren't right. This isn't a parallel Earth."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Mollyhoo, "But if you came through a temple, I have to ask, were you prepared before they sent you back? I don't mean… hey they gave you a chat, but did they give you a shot of the Cromatium to offset the effects of the time dilation from going through the portal. I mean, I could have done without the doctor who prepared me going about how I was going to be gang raped by the alphas trying and failing to breed me. As if we were feral cats to be released spayed, but not neutered." She took a left turn down a path that led up a narrow ravine. "I need to know if you were prepared. Time dilation affects adrenal and testosterone production, and builds plaque in the temporal lobe and the neural connections with the amygdala.

"Which affects language skills, memory, and emotion," said John feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the rain.

"Yes!" Mollyhoo sighed. "Oh, I can't tell you how wonderful it is to actually explain this in scientific terms."

"No, we weren't prepared," said John, who was really beginning to feel as if the crash landing had been the high point of the day.

Sherlock said, "It's likely we're from a time long after Sarpeidon. We have energy sources more efficient than a simple dam. Also, given the nuclear winter."

Mollyhoo gasped. "What! I didn't think the Confederation would… well, I'm going to focus on the idea that we didn't kill ourselves off as a species or there wouldn't be a temple." Mollyhoo stopped in the middle of the trail. "But if you weren't prepared, the time dilation will make you revert to a sort of… aggressive…savage." Toby rubbed against her as if to say, rain is bad, when she shook her head. "You know what… we'll figure it out." Mollyhoo sighed. "And you're science people. I have omegas with science backgrounds to talk to and I'm going to lose that. I mean yeah, it's worse for you, and you may try and kill us, but while I love my Sarabeth, she wouldn't know a pathogen from a reagent. This is just depressing. Not to mention nuclear winter. Yikes."

She sighed again and continued leading them up the trail.

There was little John could do, but follow.


	4. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock did not like the trend of his thoughts. That his parents had lied to him about the origin of the Breen was not entirely out of character. In character in fact. He'd always believed them because Human Augments were not the result of unassisted evolution, and Sherlock's own experiences on parallel Earths such as Miri's planet or Omega IV with the Coms and Yangs had seemed to back up the explanation.

But the presence of a time portal indicated it was more likely someone had been sent back in time to create the Breen race with the creation of a temple to commemorate whoever that had been. Although, that ran into issues of paradox if the Breen literally arranged their own development as a species, and raised the question of parallel realities versus an actual change in the timeline.

He also couldn't rule out that Mollyhoo was from a future time, but improbable.

That he and John were stranded the past was… not good.

The trail led them over a low rise and into another wooded valley between high mountain ridges. A small waterfall partially hid the narrow opening of a cave.

Sherlock lugged on.

The interior of the cave was unimpressive. Tall and wide, but without many interesting features. Although, the fresh breeze from the back of the cave indicated that there was a fresh water river flowing through another chamber of the cave system.

A small fire burned near the entrance. Both for warmth and a deterrent to predators given its placement.

A young omega, hardly out of his teens, darted forward. "Mollyhoo, you're alive. You took a lot longer than usual."

"Vesha, it's fine. I had Toby. I got a little turned around in the storm that's all." Without the driving rain and even with the smoke, Sherlock could finally make out her scent. As she'd said, she was an omega.

"You actually are an omega!" blurted John.

Mollyhoo looked at them in puzzlement. "What do you mean? We're all omegas here."

A blond woman picked up a spear and pointed it at them. "No, we're not." She at least was able to discern Sherlock's scent.

Boring.

Sherlock examined the details of the cave. Crude sun fired clay pots showing significant use. Mats woven from reeds. Smoke seeping from small holes at the bottom of a large clay pot. He explained their lives to themselves and how the process by which they smoked strips of meat mixed with salt and nitrates would slow the process of decay.

Mainly to see John glow at his display of intellect.

One of the omegas said, "Has Sarpeidon been overthrown? Are you here to help us survive?"

"No. We came by… accident," said Sherlock. "How do we go back through this Atavachron?"

"You don't," said Mollyhoo, "Someone on the other side needs to activate it and bring you out. And we couldn't go even then." She sighed, "The preparation treatment protects us from the time dilation effect from how the Atavachron works, but it means we can never go back." She looked at the blond woman. "Sarabeth, they weren't prepared."

Sarabeth raised her spear even higher. "Then they can't stay. It's only a matter of time before they turn on us. Before he turns on us." Sherlock was interested to note that many of them had woven small rings out of felt: brown, white, and a mix. A useless affectation to indicate gender and relationship status given the size of the community.

He gripped his own hand and felt the ring John had placed on his finger. Perhaps not a useless affectation.

Mollyhoo said, "But John, your name is John right, I'm so terrible with foreign names, he's an omega. If we drive him out, you know what'll happen." Somewhat disconcertingly, Mollyhoo knelt by the creature and slit its belly. She sorted its internal organs into various pots. "Anyway, they helped me. Sherlock, the alpha, saved my life. They should stay. I keep saying that maybe if we'd domesticated some of the alphas when we all first came through and they still had their wits, then maybe they wouldn't be so violent now."

"Like Toby," said Vesha, petting the creature's massive head to Toby's apparent pleasure.

"That's a little simplistic, but sure. Like Toby," said Mollyhoo. She tossed the creature's liver in the air. Toby snatched it and went to eat it in a corner.

The omegas clustered together. Tediously talking. Finally, Sarabeth said, "You can stay, but if the two of you become violent when you revert, you're out."

Sherlock sat near John by the fire, while the Mollyhoo fairly efficiently dissected the creature. Medical training with cadavers. Even without her comments, the Y shape of her cut on the creature's belly could not have been more indicative.

"I don't particularly want to become a cave man," whispered John. "I always preferred space person to cave person."

"Nor do I?" The idea was mildly horrifying.

John leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "Too bad we can't send a message to the future to get a ride home."

As was so often the case, John provided the illumination that was needed. "Why not? This is the past."

"Really far in the past. We're not even sure when."

"We can carve and paint messages into the rocks. Something simple. The star positions of when we landed and the star positions now. The image of the Atavachron and the Bakerstreet. If the Bakerstreet tracks our shuttle, if the art survives, if the people who built the temple include a reference to it in one of the other buildings, if the crew the Bakerstreet see the art, then they can easily extrapolate when to open the portal and bring us back. We'll just need to be sure to include some fertility figures to ensure that it gets displayed."

"That's a lot of ifs, but," John smiled at him, that ever comforting smile, "we've been in similarly bad situations. Not… stone age bad, but… we can get out of this."

"Yes, I do not wish to become…" the simile of a decapitated bird that continued to flop around seemed the most apt, but he said, "like I did when I was split in two." It was far worse than the idea of heat, which at least was fleeting. To lose his ability to think, his defining characteristic, himself… it would be a form of death.

John took his hand. "Think they know where to get paint?"

As it happened, they did.

Sarabeth said, "Bunch of us were political dissidents. Artists, journalists, which has been strangely useful in the past. At least for crafts. Marida made a primitive kiln for making clay pots. In the past, turns out basket weaving is actually useful, because then there are baskets. Vesha knows how to felt and I can make paints and dyes. We certainly have a lot of cat hair to turn into felt."

Mollyhoo wrapped her arm around Sarabeth. "Sarabeth's an amazing artist. Sadly stuck in a primitive period," she snorted and cackled at her own joke. "Um… yeah… she's good."

"And on that note, let me show you my work when I'm not trying to survive in a howling wilderness." They followed Sarabeth deeper into the cave system. She showed them where she had painted a herd of four legged creatures on the rock wall. "I used the contours of the cave wall. As the firelight flickers on it, they look like they're running. I'll never see a vid again, but I can see running animals. Bit of a bitch to paint though." She held up a reed. "I blow the paint through this. Read about it in a book." She wrinkled her nose. "Hopefully, I'm not the originator of the technique."

"Hmm…" Sherlock considered his and John's own meager artistic skills. "If we take over hunting, will you paint images on the wall that I define for you?"

"If you can bring in food like you did today, then I will paint the same damn thing in every cave in this whole cave system."

Sherlock grinned at John. It was going to be fine.

It had to be.


	5. John's POV

True to her word, Sarabeth worked on a stunningly beautiful painting in the next cave, which was for the best. John couldn't draw more than simple shapes.

Growing up, John's mum and dad had never done more simple design work for various plays. He sighed, thinking of his dad. Years later, the pain was more of a dull ache than a sharp wound. He wondered if he regressed, if that too would be part of him that he lost.

He gave everyone a checkup the day after he arrived, and it was clear they hadn't been getting nearly enough calories, but no acute vitamin deficiencies. There were a variety of other physical issues stemming from easily treatable pre-conditions. Easily treatable in the future. Some that John had only heard about in theory.

John was finding that cooking took on a whole new dimension now that it was something he had to do. No question over replicated spices over naturally grown. No arguing over the relative merits of replicating ingredients at all. There was salt from a cave and they were lucky to have that, and whatever could be foraged or hunted. Everything was about how they could prepare what little there was without getting sick. Everything had to be used for the calories to keep them alive.

At least the calorie issue changed with John and Sherlock taking down larger game than the rodent that was boiling in the pot when they arrived. That took everyone from slowly starving to maintenance. But the wider effect was a mini-production boom as people had time to work on making all the things they needed use for day to day living rather than focusing every moment on getting food.

The valley itself, while protected from the winds that whistled on the higher mountain peaks around them, and had a good water supply from the waterfall and river than ran through the valley, was semi-arid. Sparse trees dotted the hills. Some thorny bramble berries, which produced small tart black fruit. Mostly it was rich in high yellow grass that was cut to line the floor of the cave for warmth. It did mean that Sherlock, had to range far down the river valley to a lower altitude where the game was more plentiful.

When Sherlock said, impatiently, "You should have moved closer to food sources."

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Kenner sharply.

"No, it would have made more sense," said John. "The cave is nice, but you could build a place to live."

Sarabeth sighed. "I said the same thing, but," she drew a map. "According to what we remember from the history of the time, there's a growing and aggressive Fenisal empire to the south and Fenisal all over the jungles below this mountain range. This altitude is empty of inhabitants because it's harder to live here." She spat on the ground. "Fucking Sarpeidon."

That was that.

Both John and Sherlock tried to pass on everything useful they could think of while they still could. Whether they forgot, or the future came, knowledge should be passed on.

Sherlock had a harder time of it. After yet another omega looked at Sherlock with incredulity and then checked with John to see if what Sherlock was saying was correct, Sarabeth said, "Oh, for fuck's sake. It's 5019," rolled her eyes at Mollyhoo's snort, "you know what I mean. Those kinds of outdated ideas should be retired with the buggy whip." Which had more than a few muttering they wished they were advanced enough to have buggy whips. Sarabeth tried again. "There were plenty of alphas in my artists collective."

"Name one famous alpha artist," said Jovas. "Name one alpha inventor. Famous leader."

"Because society restricts them," said Sarabeth.

"Because all they can think of is rutting," said Jovas. "Omegas go into heat once a year."

"Well, there are those omegas with early onset estrus, which affects," started Mollyhoo.

"I'm not talking about outlier cases," said Jovas. "We may as well as speak of those like myself, who were chosen by their crèche to never experience heat."

Which fine, John had the impression she was some sort of religious figure, but Sherlock looked like he was about to explode and John had enough. "Do you want to know how to ferment or not. Sauerkraut has a longer shelf live that simply trying to store leafy greens."

"Because the past is diarrhea and malnutrition," said Mollyhoo. She seemed willing to listen to Sherlock's rant on the nature of pickling, which was a first step.

John got his first look at the unprepared alphas a few days after they arrived. He heard Vesha scream, and went running. An emaciated snarling creature in the ragged remnants of clothing was attempting to thrust between his legs with their half hard cock. They snapped their teeth at John, wild eyed and unresponsive to words, but ran when they heard Toby's growl and saw a larger group coming.

"Vesha, you know better than to get so far from the others." Marida gathered up the scattered fruit into Vesha's basket in quick, angry movements, glancing repeatedly in the direction the alpha had gone. "Always go out with at least two others. Or did you want them to drag you off like Petervin or Mavisoff?"

"Marida!" said Mollyhoo. She hugged Vesha, who cried cry in quick, sharp, sobs like needles. "I go out by myself alone all the time. He's doing what we all are. Trying to get us ready for winter."

Marida kept gathering the fruit and said nothing.

John asked, "Is the winter bad here?" He looked around the valley. It seemed pleasant enough, but they were in the mountains. The weather might change suddenly for all he knew.

Mollyhoo's flushed and Vesha sobbed harder.

Marida looked at him oddly. "Omegas go into heat in the winter. Don't they do that in your time?"

"No, uh… I mean, yes, I'd be seasonally poly-estrus if," John waved that off, "most omegas have access to suppressants that control or completely shut down our cycle unless we want to experience it."

"Lucky," said Marida.

Jovas said, "Kenner and I do not go through estrus, but the rest of the omegas here, not so much. When winter comes every alpha in the area, rutting animals, tries to get into the cave. At home, I'd have had the support of other omegas to help manage things. Ensured things were done the proper way. Managed the protection of the genome."

"Until I came here," said Mollhoo softly, "My crèche always kept me away from alphas, because of," she waved at her nose, "the genetic defect that was the reason Sarpeidon chose to send me here. But we weren't religious enough to have me go through the process to eliminate my heats." She sighed.

Jovas shook his head, "The past has merely revealed the truth. Alphas have always been more emotional. Less logical than omegas. It's why they're so bad at the sciences, more suited to the domestic arts. I've heard their brains are actually smaller."

"That's not actually true," said Mollyhoo. "I've done plenty of autopsies on both alphas and omegas, but well..." she looked at John. "Really, John, you've done a lovely job with Sherlock. Helping him keep his emotions in check."

John wasn't even really sure where to go with that one. Especially given the strop Sherlock had pulled the previous day on realizing that anything he wanted to make would have to be done with stone knives and the equivalent of bear skin.

Mollyhoo rubbed Vesha's shoulder. "Anyway, while we're still lucid, we do what we can to close off the entrance with stones. Have those of us who are umm… affected… move up into one of the higher chambers. But mostly…"

"We're fucked," sniffed Vesha. "I was almost killed last year. Two alphas got in and…they…and I… I wanted… and…"

Mollyhoo put her arm around him. "I'm sure it'll be better this year." But her look at John wasn't hopeful.

He had a sinking feeling as well. He had no access to his suppressors, never terribly reliable when Sherlock was around anyway. If the Bakerstreet didn't find them soon, he'd fall into a natural seasonally poly-estrus, cycle and go into heat in the stone-age. On an alien world. While losing his ability to remember or think. Surrounded by Augments with some very strange ideas about alphas and omegas.

John did what he always did when faced with this sort of problem. Lifted his chin. Squared his shoulders. Declared a mental fuck this noise. "We need weapons. Better defenses than rocks. We're from technologically advanced societies," he said very firmly. He was. He still was.

"We were artists. Journalists," said Marida. "Do you want us to write cutting articles about their sartorial style? How about a series of sculptures I could call it gender politics? Maybe sing a song?"

John was not going to have any of that. He pointed at Mollyhoo. "She was a forensic pathologist. A background in science. I'm a doctor and was in the military." They hadn't wanted him, but no need to go into that just then. "Sherlock knows, among other things, chemistry." Jovas looked skeptical, but John pushed on. "Stop wasting our time. He really does. I'd be very surprised if there aren't things we can use to blow things up with around here."

As it turned out, black powder was surprisingly easy to make if someone knew how, which Sherlock did. He was his typical gleeful self, explaining how to make black powder and small cannons from reinforced bamboo. If he spoke too fast, went many sleepless nights, as if trying to accomplish all he could while he still could, John couldn't blame him.

With a defined problem, John focused on reducing the ways the anyone could get into the valley. A few well-placed brick walls once they figured out bricks and mortar. Stakes. He only managed one pit trap. Even with plenty of food from Sherlock's and his hunting, they were too hard to dig and consumed too many calories that could be spent making more complicated things than a hole in the ground.

He was covering the pit when a hulking alpha came down the narrow canyon to the north. Mollyhoo shot an arrow from a small horn bow strung with sinew. The arrow went high and wide.

John lobbed an arrow from his atlatl at the brute. Wondering if the agro he was feeling came from time dilation or was his native personality, or if there was a difference.

The brute screamed as John at least had made a direct, if not deep, hit and turned around. John said, "Your aim is getting better." It was true. It still wasn't good, but she hadn't almost shot herself.

"I can't believe I didn't think of distance weapons sooner." Mollyhoo lowered the bow.

"You survived this long. Made pots. Flaked stone knives. That thing where you're using that cave with the cliff opening as a wind chilled refrigerator is dead brilliant." He looked at the far end of the valley. "Speaking of which," he looked meaningfully at Mollyhoo, "Sherlock's back."

John walked briskly towards him. He wasn't running. Brisk walking. Suppressing the fear that every time they parted would be the last time it would be as themselves.

Because he could tell he was forgetting things. Every day, losing some of the knowledge of who he was. It had to be worse for Sherlock. John inhaled that thought into a kiss. Sherlock dropped the thing's leg. Left it for the others to skin and prepare. Pulled John into the caves. Past the main chamber. Past the refrigeration chamber with the cold wind whistling up from the cliff below it. Into the small cave with its narrow entrance beyond it that they'd claimed as a private room for themselves. Sank together into the fur that was their bed whispering, "Love you," and "Never forget you," and "The Bakerstreet will be here soon."

But while the stores of dried meat and fruit, wild grains, and root vegetables increased in the refrigeration room, as the leaves turned brilliant yellow and red, and began to fall from the trees, the future didn't come.

John forgot the names for the bones of his hand. He forgot the name of his throw sticks thing. He'd known it once. So much knowledge was slipping away. Sherlock said, "Obvious," but his arm wrapped around John as if to emphasize that he wouldn't let him go.

Sherlock explored the cave system, but thankfully didn't dive into the underground river that rushed through one of the lower levels. Pushed himself harder and harder. Returning with food for their stores. On one occasion dragging a fully grown fruit tree, which might survive being ripped up and replanted. Maybe. Lucy wasn't with them, thankfully.

When Jovas said, "That type of tree can't grow at this altitude," Sherlock growled which earned a worried look from some of the others.

After a clear struggle, he managed to point at the waterfall and stream below it. "Water." Rapped the side of his head. "Humidity." Moved his long lovely fingers as if lifting. "Warmth."

"Oh," said Mollyhoo. "That's very clever." She went on to explain in words that John was losing something about how the water in the air could change the temperature of the area around it.

Those kinds of ideas grew more and more difficult. Made him angry. John actually kind of enjoyed those moments. The wild joining that came of anger. The joy in knowing that at least they were together. Whispering, "Love you," while they still had the words. Feeling in his bones that even if they lost the words, the feeling would always be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The principle Sherlock is trying to talk about here is using humidity to enable lower altitude plants to grow at higher altitudes. A good example of a people who really mastered this were the Incans (okay, they didn't call themselves that, but moving on) and a great site where they experimented with that technique was Tipon.   
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tip%C3%B3n


	6. Mollyhoo POV

Life was not what she'd intended when Mollyhoo'd spent six years studying medicine and forensic science, but it was better than it had been. She wasn't starving all the time.

She missed talking about science though.

There been this glorious three months of talking about the medicinal properties of various herbs with John. They'd identified bark that could be used for a fever reducing tea. Moss that could be used to patch wounds. Not that John ever seemed to have any. Neither he, nor Sherlock ever seemed to be so much as nauseous from badly cooked food.

More than that, John knew how to make bread. He knew how to cook. The idea to put dried berries with the farradon meat had turned something gamey into something delicious. She'd forgotten delicious. He even understood the basics of making beer, which once she got used to the idea of chewing the grain and spitting it in the pot as a way of using the enzymes in their saliva to break down the complex carbohydrates, it tasted better than she would have expected. And after all, they did boil it.

And Sherlock, he really was unexpected for an alpha. An attitude Sarabeth kept chiding her over, but really he was. Obviously, his matriarch had done a wonderful job home schooling him, because one evening John had made some off-hand remark about something called a Molotov cocktail, Sherlock had leapt up, called John his shining light, snatched up the candlestick and ran off.

The next morning, she woke up to find that he'd used all of Sarabeth's blowing tubes – she hadn't been too happy about that at first – and used the kiln to melt the candlestick down and make a primitive still, which… alcohol was a wonderful preservative. Disinfectant. Flammable. There were so many uses Mollyhoo literally cried when she saw it. He'd even made a several farming implements from what was left.

She'd cried and tentatively talked about chemistry with Sherlock, who, she had to admit that alpha or not, was smarter than all of them.

Oh, the food he brought back was good, but he knew how to turn sinews into strings for bows. Into thread for all sorts of things. He found uses for parts of the body that she'd never even considered. Intestines for sausage, which John knew how to make. Stomachs and bladders for pots. Candles from the tallow fat. She knew basically how to tan a hide, but Sherlock knew how to make useful hides. He even made drums that they could use to communicate from one of the valley to the next.

She had to wonder a bit about his upbringing, but certainly his parents had prepared him far better for a howling wilderness than her five years of marching band.

Sherlock had been smarter.

John had known how to cook.

Those had been three glorious months.

But they had a still now and tallow candles. And bricks, which perhaps she should have thought of making a frame for shaping clay and grass gathered high on the mountain side, and then sun drying them so they could make a real entrance to the cave door. A real door with a cross bar, because Sherlock and John has said some friend of theirs had explained how that worked too. They'd all gotten quite a lecture on basic architecture.

She was looking happily at the door and chewing grain for the next batch of beer, when Sarabeth said, "I'd gotten so used to alphas trying to kill us, I'd forgotten how good they can smell."

Mollyhoo mock glared at Sarabeth, spat out her grain, and asked, "Should I be jealous?"

Sarabeth gave her a dry look. "I liked omegas before I came to the past, and I like omegas now, but…" she shrugged, rueful.

Vesha said, "Sherlock smells incredibly good and is so pretty."

They all looked at the spot where Sherlock scent lingered in the air where he and John often sat by the fire.

Back in the future, since Vesha's only issues were near sightedness and slight asthma, the matriarch of Vesha's crèche would have met with the matriarch of Sherlock's crèche. Verified he was clean of genetic anomalies. To see if he should be allowed to exchange genetics with any of their crèche. This was what they were reduced to. He smelled nice and looked pretty, and had once been very smart for an alpha.

If Mollyhoo had been so lucky as to have met Sarabeth in the future, well technically she had, but that had been for five minutes before they'd been shoved through a time portal, so she hardly thought it counted, they would have been paired to be aunties to one of their crèche's children. It was an important role. One lost to them now.

"Did you hear what I said?" asked Marida.

Mollyhoo flushed. "Um…"

Vesha grumbled something inaudible then said more loudly, "What she said is that when we go into heat this winter, we'll try to get to the alphas again."

Sarabeth delicately shaped a needle from a long bone. She left the grain chewing to Mollyhoo.

"Yes." Mollyhoo did not understand why they were discussing basic biology with her. She was the expert on biology. She'd taken classes. Examined cadavers. Knew the difference between a spleen and a liver, and what they both did.

"There's an alpha here," said Marida impatiently. "An attractive, gorgeous smelling alpha."

"We can't drive them out," said Mollyhoo hastily. "They're both regressing, I've been carrying out cognitive tests with them, but neither of them have become violent. Well, a little violent, but mostly they just…" she didn't want to say that most of their tantrums mostly turned into rather public sex. "And if we try to drive Sherlock out then John will…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake's, honey," said Sarabeth. "They are talking about seeing if John would be fine with sharing Sherlock when we all go into heat, so we'll want to stay here where it's safer." Sarabeth gave Mollyhoo a friendly squeeze of her knee.

"That," Mollyhoo considered the situation from every angle. It wasn't ideal. John, as the only omega from his crèche was therefore his own matriarch, and wasn't that an odd idea. A matriarch that was still having active estrus cycles. Then again the things John and Sherlock said were often very strange and made no sense, but, "it could work. With proximity to alpha pheromones and the periodic exposure to alpha hormones in semen, proper vaginal stimulation through distension of the posterior vagina, which we could use some of the bladders to trigger a pseudo ovular response since there's so many of us and only one alpha, that would shorten the estrus cycle, and lengthen the periods between estrus. During estrus our instinct will be to…"

"Do you think John will say yes," said Marida. "You got to know him best before he," she waggled her hand. "And I don't want him to hit me or, I don't know, stake me with a spear like he did that one alpha that tried to come over the wall."

Mollyhoo thought about it. "It can't hurt to ask. After all, it's a reasonable request under the circumstances."

Sherlock was a very pretty alpha. Not that she would ever love anyone more than she did Sarabeth, but no one expected monogamy from an alpha. It wasn't in their nature. Mollyhoo had read medical studies smuggled in from the Confederation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The earliest known beer recipe  
> http://www.piney.com/BabNinkasi.html
> 
> Beer helped along with saliva:  
> https://vinepair.com/wine-blog/chicha-and-masato-ancient-peruvian-spit-drinks/  
> https://www.localharvest.org/blog/realfood/entry/brewing_chicha_de_jora_for


	7. John's POV

John slid slick skin against skin, as he and Sherlock as they made love in the cave with the warm spring. Warm after they dropped hot rocks in it. But Sherlock wanted to be clean. The last hunt had been… messy and unsuccessful. More mud and slide than success, and Sherlock liked to be clean. Clever and clean. Words. John wanted to give Sherlock so many words. So hot rocks and the burning soap that made John's nose itch and hands sliding over skin and washing Sherlock's hair and making love. Their voices echoing on the rocks.

After Sherlock grumbled and shivered, which was John knew was because he didn't want to get up. He blinked sadly at John and shivered again. John splashed him, but laughed and pushed himself up over the side. Used the wide flat tool to pick up another rock warming in the fire and drop it in the water. It steamed and hissed as it sank.

"That's," said Mollyhoo raising a candle cup… "I… the hunting I understand. But heating this pool with volcanic rocks warmed in a… that's the pot we use for smoking meat… that means that means that you're still capable of complex reasoning. Future planning, but the time dilations neuro inhibitor effects should prevent that."

John sank back in the water next to Sherlock, who wrapped his long legs around John, and which was nice.

"John. Sherlock. Did you understand any of what I just said?"

Sherlock grumbled and John splashed Mollyhoo. She should only stay if she wasn't going to upset Sherlock.

"It doesn't matter. That's not why we're here," said Sarabeth.

Sarabeth and Mollyhoo sat down next to them dangling bare legs into the water. Mollyhoo sighed as she sat down. Looked everywhere but at them. She and Sarabeth didn't say anything for a long time, so John ignored them. Kissing Sherlock was more interesting.

Sarabeth burst out in words. "So, we're all omegas, except Sherlock."

"Yes," John smiled fondly at the members of his pride. There had been others once. Vague memories of beeps and flashing lights. A dark lady with clay in her braids. A blue woman with a flute. A silver haired woman, who cared. Fog memories. This was his pride now.

Sherlock huffed in an annoyed way at not being kissed, so John stroked his water slicked hair.

Sarabeth expelled her breath. "Look, it's almost winter. Soon, we'll be going into heat. We'll do what we can to keep the alphas out, but…"

John frowned, anger suddenly spiking. "Stay with Sherlock." He slapped the water. When he went into heat, John needed to be near Sherlock. Couldn't let anyone but Sherlock breed him. Wouldn't let any other alpha near him. He'd dig the eyes out of the alpha that tried. He'd…

Sarabeth moved slightly away from John. 

"No, we don't mean," Mollyhoo trailed off. "This is so embarrassing. I never knew the matriarchs had to, well, they don't generally face situations like this." Mollyhoo glanced at Sarabeth, her scent sharp with worry. "It was terrible last year. We had hardly any supplies and… um…" she buried her blushing face in her hands. "Well, Toby has a friend in the next valley. It's really just us. And umm… it would be nice if we could be friends with Sherlock," she mumbled through her hands. "I don't think anyone has any STDs if that helps."

John had no idea what Mollyhoo wanted. John looked at Sherlock, who looked as puzzled as John felt.

Sarabeth coughed. "What we're trying to say is it's pretty clear that you've got Sherlock on a pretty tight leash. So, no one is worried he's going to try and kill us during or after sex. So the main question is would you let him rut with any or all of us when we go into heat, or would you kill anyone who tried? Um… or dig out our eyes, because that would be a non-starter."

"John, can we have sex with Sherlock?" Mollyhoo smiled weakly. "We discussed it with the others."

John could not understand why they thought he held the leash. "Sherlock husband." He held Sherlock's hand and lifted both hands above the water. Then because Mollyhoo just looked at him he said slowly, "Huzzz…baaaand."

"I don't know what that word means, John," said Mollyhoo. "There's so many things we should have asked you before, but…"

"I don't know, honey. We covered a lot of ground since they got here. Reinventing distillation, pickling, some basic architecture, agriculture, medicine, and…" Sarabeth waggled her eyebrows, "sausage making. Such big thick hard sausages."

"You're not helping," said Mollyhoo, her scent blooming warmer and more worried.

"Mates." More blank looks. John did not know why they didn't understand something so simple. He tried a different question. "Why me? Ask Sherlock."

Mollyhoo's forehead wrinkled. "Omegas are the guardians of the genome. We're the ones who decide if an alpha should be allowed to breed. It's only in the last century that alphas have been advocated for more freedoms. Matriarch's deciding who breeds and shouldn't. Not that Sarpeidon didn't up-end the entire gender order by sending us here." She brushed the end of a braid against her lips.

Her friendly face was sad. Her braids limp from the damp air. John felt sad for her. For all of them.

Sarabeth sighed. "Mollyhoo is a bit old fashioned. Fundamentalist family. Not as bad as Jovas, but John, you're right. We should ask both of you."

"It's compromised consent," muttered Mollyhoo kicking the water.

She quieted when Sarabeth squeezed her hand. "It's this kind of consent or none. And they did think of making a hot tub, so…" she shrugged. "It's what we're left with."

John lay against Sherlock thinking. He looked at Sherlock, who said slowly, "Mollyhoo sad. Sarabeth sad. Sarpeidon hurt. I fix." Then even more softly. "Love you." John felt a surge of love for Sherlock and knew he was right. There was only one way to heal the others. Fix what had been done to them.

John cleared his throat. "I… okay."

Sherlock blinked water clumped lashes. He looked very young for a moment. Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I… as long as John… yes. Help." Ducked his head under the water. Looked at John with shiny eyes. Bright as candles. "Babies." He quickly kissed John's cheek and hid his face in John's neck for an embarrassed nuzzle.

John felt something soft and twisty at his heart at the thought. He stroked Sherlock's hair. "Sherlock make babies with you. Yes."

Mollyhoo looked even sadder and her scent didn't soften. "You probably don't remember me telling you this, but the treatment for time dilation affected the follicles in our ovarian tissue. Rendering us to all intents and purposes sterile. We can't have babies, which really makes no sense given how the judge was going on about how we were being sent back to pollute our kind with our weaknesses."

"Fuck Sarpeidon," Sarabeth spat to one side, "He was all the bricks shy of a full load. There were no bricks. Just mud. Nothing he did made sense. Sure he came to power with a lot of racist anti-Breenava shite, but that wasn't a new thing. I figured it was excuse to fill out the work camps. Build monuments to him and the Fenisal race. Digging holes for his archeologists searching for the glorious history of the Fenisal. I worked on more murals than… fuck him. He finished that big arse dam of his and," she snapped her fingers, "next thing we knew, he was rounding us up to send into the past. While the Confederation of Alignments in the South did fuck all."

None of that made much sense to John. Really it wasn't the important part. "Sherlock breed." He was very certain of this.

Sherlock pulled away from John and slapped the water. John could feel him struggling for words. Hurting to express himself. John rubbed his shoulders. Untangled his hair.

"No, that's… it was never going to happen." Mollyhoo sighed wistfully. Sarabeth took her hand and kissed her fingers.

John insisted. They needed to know. That Mollyhoo didn't need to be sad anymore. That wouldn't be a problem if this was what they wanted. "Sherlock. Magic healing cock."

"Yeah, I got that idea," said Sarabeth kicking her feet in the water and splashing both of them. "We can hear you yelling what a big strong alpha he is, big strong giant cock when you have sex, which um...."

"It's been really often recently," said Mollyhoo looking down into the water, "and very public."

Sherlock purred with pride. "John loves me."

John scratched the hair behind his ears. "Sherlock loves John."

"So, you're good with this?" asked Sarabeth.

They needed to know he was serious. John let go of Sherlock to climb out of the water. To rub against them, to rub the oils from his skin into theirs. The scent of a nesting omega. The scent of the omega that Sherlock loved. "You my pride."

They looked at him as if they didn't understand, which worried John. The universal thing that let them talk at all didn't always make the words shape into understanding. But Sherlock understood John and that was all that mattered.  


	8. Sherlock's POV

The omegas' scents deepened. None quite like John, but there was only one John.

The omegas said the obvious. That winter and their heats were coming. As if the snow on the sharp mountain peaks around the valley didn't say that.

They closed the entrance to the cave with the bricks Sherlock had shown them how to make. With the door he and John had shown them how to make. He didn't remember how to make those things anymore, but he had once.

It didn't matter. Not as long as he was near John.

He followed John as they climbed through the cave system holding candles in small clay pots. Flames flickering over the paintings and making the animals run. He saw images of himself and John among them with stars. It was good.

They went to the nesting chamber on the far end of a gallery full of glittering stone. It was a good nest. Candles dripped from rock ledges. Only one entrance. He marked the walls with his scent. John had already marked the chamber with his own. Stayed close to John. Checking in with him every few minutes to be sure that he was still there. Longing to breed with him, but John did not respond to his displays. Not even when he took off all his clothes and stroked his cock.

The other omegas moaned and stretched. Displayed themselves. The air thick with their scent mingled with John's.

Sherlock watched John. Waited.

Mollyhoo grimaced from the bed of woven grass and furs. She tugged frantically on her cock. "Please, John, tell him it's okay. You know he won't do anything otherwise."

Sherlock looked at John. Waiting. He wanted to know how John could make this right. Sherlock had known how to be clever once, but John had always been Sherlock's light.

John grinned at Sherlock and scooped grease out of a small pot. He slicked his cock. Sherlock could feel his heart beat faster. His instincts to mount any of the omegas at war with what he really wanted. Needed. He sighed happily as John prodded him in Mollyhoo's direction. John sat down beside her. "Good. Make not sad. Breed." John nuzzled Mollyhoo's breast. Rubbing his scent into her skin. "See."

Sherlock crouched very carefully, with one eye on John. Mollyhoo whimpered, "Please. I need… I need." She needed not to be sad.

John arranged Sherlock how he wanted him, which was exactly how Sherlock wanted to be. On his knees in front of John. Beneath John as John pushed the head of his cock into Sherlock's backside. Stretching him. Filling him. Moving slick with animal fat. Pushing Sherlock forward into Mollyhoo's soft heat.

Mollyhoo gasped. "Big fat wow, oh, oh, oh, oh." Her breasts bouncing as she moved against him.

The rest of the pride were busy. Some of them coupled with each other. Some with the ones they'd chosen as mates. Some as desire took them. Staying near the places Sherlock had marked. Only Sarabeth stayed near. Nuzzling and suckling Mollyhoo's bared breasts. Licking hardened nipples. Whispering, "Love you, baby."

John behind Sherlock shouted, "Love you."

While Sherlock simply repeated John's name as he gave into the scent and sound and feeling of the moment.

Somewhere in all of this he knotted. Felt John's release as he fell into his own.

When his knot released him, he crawled in between them. Nuzzling and licking everyone in the pile. Laughing in delight as John licked his cock clean.

Mollyhoo giggled. "Can't move. Fucked in half by magic cock."

Giggled further as Sarabeth straddled her, and whispered, "Save some for me."

John groaned. Spread his legs, lifting his hips, smiling. He was ready to let Sherlock in.

Sherlock began again, eagerly. Not wanting to wait in case John changed his mind. He pushed gently into John, while holding Mollyhoo's hand so that she would know that she was not being neglected while they both coupled with their mates. Sherlock took his time pleasing his mate. Feeling his knot grow. Pleasing his mate as his knot slid in and out of John's well slicked entrance. Encouraging his scent to bloom further and further until he could no longer hold back. Knotting in his mate. Biting his neck. Groaning as he released his seed where it would find the best ground.

Somewhere beside him, Sarabeth said, "Fuck! This is hot. Need… yeah…harder."

He ignored her. Focused on pleasing his mate. Rubbing sweat slick skin against skin. Scenting and biting him. Working to ensure that John would be pleased with Sherlock. Know that Sherlock would do everything he could to care for the children that they were breeding. He tended to John's love bits when they were done. Cleaning them lovingly.

He was dimly aware that some of the others had left the chamber. Had gone down into the caves below. He could hear them yowling. Mixed with shouts from Jovas and Kenner. Other voices too. Strangers.

Sherlock growled and pushed himself up, but Sarabeth clutched his arm. "Please. John, don't let him go down there. I need him here."

John put his hand on Sherlock's wrist. "Stay here. We stay." Sherlock stilled, no longer caring if some of the omegas had gone to be bred by other alphas. Not as long as his Omega claimed him.

What followed was skin and sighs and an ever enriching scent in their nest.

Eventually, they all slept.

When he woke, John smiled at him sleepily, before pushing himself up. "Find omegas. May be hurt." Sherlock did not want to leave the comfortable bed. He wanted to lie next to John scenting him, but John was right.

He followed John to the caves below. The door was open. The sharp scent of black powder warred with the scent of where the alphas had marked inside the cave with blood and piss when they died. They were missing parts where the boom stick had thrown rocks at them.

Jovas was sitting near the fire with the spent boom stick. It's end soot black and cracked. Kenner glared at the door.

Several of the omegas were clustered together, crying. Their scent showing that for now their heat was done with the tinge that meant it would begin again.

Vesha was spattered in blood. Large purple bruises bloomed on his face and bare body. His eye closing up. The others were washing him off with water warmed over the fire. Vesha kept saying, "Sorry. I didn't mean to open the door. It was just there's so many of us and I didn't think Sherlock would ever… and I needed it. I…"

John shouted at Vesha. Shouted out the door. Went to Vesha. Nuzzled him to put his scent on him.

Sherlock looked around quickly. The scent of the dead alphas was strong. There needed to be less dead alpha in their cave. Sherlock picked up the ankles of both. Sherlock carried the bodies out of the cave, dragged them up the valley, and threw them over the wall at the top of the valley as a warning.

He heard a faint whimper.

There was an immature alpha in the trap that John had dug. They were gaunt and had several poorly healing wounds.

Sherlock snarled at them. The alpha mewed submissively and exposed their neck. Sherlock could have left them there, but there was food to feed the alpha and by their scent, they were a juvenile. A teen. The pride needed more alphas. Sherlock could not be everywhere. Sherlock reached down and pulled the alpha out. Carried the alpha back to the cave over his shoulder. The alpha shivered with Sherlock's every step.

When he came inside, Jovas and Kenner shouted at him. Many of the omegas were still crying. He growled at them. "No threat." The pride needed alphas that… he couldn't quite remember what was wrong, but this alpha was too young to attempt dominance displays or to become angry if they did not go right. Not while Sherlock was there.

The alpha whined and after several attempts mumbled, "Please. Cold. Hungry."

Mollyhoo stumbled into the chamber. Her scent was soft and satisfied. She looked at them. "Henryba Skerville. Henryba is that you?" She came a little closer. "Oh, yeah. Right. You probably don't remember me. But I remember you. You lived down the street before we were moved to the ghetto. I remember."

Sherlock left her to argue with the others. Mollyhoo and Sarabeth were full of words.

Sherlock went to where John was. John laughed and took him in his arms. He wrapped his own arms around John. Whispered, "Love you. Love you. Love you." He wanted to say what was important while he still had the words.


	9. Mollyhoo's POV

"I can't believe how good I feel," Sarabeth. She was wiggling her hand. "I broke my arm when I was a kid and it's ached when it rains ever since. Now I feel great."

"Endorphins. Dopamine, really good estrus sex," said Mollyhoo. She stretched. "I feel better too. Better than I have since I got here. Not," she brushed her hand along the side of Sarabeth's head, "that it's not good with you. It's always amazing with you. The way you…"

"Relax." Sarabeth stopped Mollyhoos lips with a finger and a kiss. "Heat's always a special sort of intense, and if I had to travel to the arse end of time. At least I found you."

Which was very sweet of Sarabeth and exactly how Mollyhoo felt, other than the part where she missed flush toilets and electric lights and everything. But there was something she just didn't quite understand. "Our estrus cycle should still be, you know… going on. There are down cycles in hormonal production that allow for greater cognition, but still there. Instead I feel normal. Pericardium. Enzymes. Vascular. I can think just fine, and I feel great." She looked over at where Vesha and Marida were already exhibiting signs that their next estrus cycle was beginning.

"Let's enjoy the in between," said Sarabeth. They rested foreheads together, and because they could, went out through the gallery, laughing at Henryba excited smile where some of the others were cleaning him up as they went past.

They spent some time in the refrigeration chamber. Not much time because it was freezing and there looked to be a blizzard going on. Enjoyed a nice warm bath in the heatable spring, because seeing John and Sherlock's trick had reminded Mollyhoo of something she'd heard about ancient indoor heating and if she couldn't go outside and there wasn't any need to forage for food, she could enjoy a hot bath with her special someone.

In the last few years, Mollyhoo had been too miserable during the winter, unable to think for more than a few days at a time. Now she had free time with the food stores full of supplies.

Still Mollyhoo marked down the days until their estrus cycle would start up again.

Instead of going into heat, she experienced horrific cramps. Then the part where the past was made of tiny organisms trying to disrupt her intestinal tract took over. She became extremely nauseous. No diarrhea thankfully, but plenty out the other end.

Mollyhoo lay there, holding her belly and said, "It must be something we ate." 

She was still saying that a week later. Far past when their estrus cycle should have started again. Marida and Vesha' next cycle had come and gone. They spent their time with Henryba, who seemed to be bewilderingly happy at his change in circumstances. Not that she could ask him more than simple questions. He displayed none of the level of cognition that John and Sherlock were showing.

Sherlock and John actually left the cave system and returned with another alpha, who'd been caught in the pit.

Sarabeth recognized her from before. Sawyersa wasn't a juvenile, but she was thin and wheezed with most breaths. Although the injury to her right eye had been sustained by a blow to the head.

Before the time dilation effects, John or Sherlock might have been able to tell what was affecting Sawyersa's breathing. Mollyhoo thought it might be serious asthma. Perhaps a long term bronchial condition, but without examining a cadaver, she couldn't say. As it was, they brought her inside the cave and then there were three alphas. When the omegas went into their next cycle, although there were fewer this time, none of them tried to leave the nesting cave this time. They hardly even needed to use the dildo with the bladder.

More and more of the others reported feeling in better health than they had in years. Certainly, they were all well fed with decent supplies for once.

As to Mollyhoo, she spent more time in the refrigeration chamber than she liked. Best spot to throw up given the lack of cleanup. She set off John, who set off Sarabeth.

John looked at her wearily and said, "Magic Cock." He rinsed his mouth with water from a pot. "Magic Cock," which she really wished he would stop saying.

Anyway, there was an obvious answer. "The past is made of diarrhea." Mollyhoo sighed. "I thought we had all the meat properly spaced when we were making sausage, but maybe there wasn't enough salt. It could have been the dried fruit. I was a little suspicious of the mold on the copaberries, and there were a lot birds and…"

"Magic cock!" insisted John.

Sarabeth dry heaved onto the cave floor. She drank some water and said, "So, help me, if you say magic cock one more time, I will hit you."

John smashed the pot, which sprayed water everywhere, which… it had taken hours to make that pot, and now John had an edged weapon. John who could be a bit scary sometimes.

Mollyhoo held up her hands protectively. "No one is going to hit anyone."

Thankfully, Sherlock lopped back in and John tackled him. The love birds had sex and no one died.

But really, Mollyhoo was genuinely concerned the break in their estrous cycles might mean some form of new illness that she didn't have the technology to deal with and John wasn't exactly helpful with medical advice these days.


	10. Sherlock's POV

Mollyhoo called out to Sarabeth. "There's another one." She crouched down by the edge of the pit John had dug before winter.

There had been a break in the storms and the omegas had all been eager to get out of the caves.

Sherlock had certainly been more than ready, although winter was far from over and not all the omegas were breeding. Most, but not all. But that was up to John. Sherlock was more than happy to feel sunshine on his face. Look up at the sharp peaks around the valley and feel the cool air of their territory.

Sherlock scanned the bare trees, but in the still afternoon found only fresh snow and birdsong.

Being careful to keep John in his field of view, he went to look into the pit. There was another alpha shivering in the snow at the bottom.

Mollyhoo said, "That makes four of them now. I've never seen this one before." 

The alpha was small, but well fed. She'd retained a silver ring on her left hand. Her muscles were sleek and firm. He did not trust her wide eyes full of tears. From the way the dirt was rubbed into her knees and hands, she'd gone into the pit deliberately.

Sarabeth said, "Oh, for fuck's sake. I think they're doing it on purpose now."

Sherlock grunted. There was a word he'd always said once. He couldn't find it. He moved a hand to indicate it.

John put his hand over his belly, already noticeably firm and slightly round with their growing litter. John bared his teeth, but stayed away from the pit. That was good. Omegas could lose their young if they were exposed to the scent of an adult alpha who had not bred with them. The juvenile and the sick alpha were fine, their scents wouldn't affect John, but this was a healthy mature adult. There was nothing weak in her pheromones at all.

Sherlock growled to let the alpha know she shouldn't approach his mate. To stay where she was and die. John rapped the ground with the butt of a spear to let the alpha know that he agreed with Sherlock.

The other omegas had different ideas. "She looks so cold," said Vesha. "We can't leave her there."

The alpha whined and knelt her head submissively.

Sherlock was not fooled. He bared his teeth to let her know he saw through her plan to be taken into the cave, and be fed and fucked.

Vesha said, "Let's name this one Marymor." He smiled sheepishly. "I knew a Marymor once. She was hot."

Marida pulled one of the bamboo stakes narrowing the path out of the dirt.

Sherlock had been hoping that he was going to impale the alpha with it, but to Sherlock's disgust, he lowered the pole into the pit and called out. "Come on, Marymor. Come on out of there."

The alpha climbed out easily enough. She crouched at Sarabeth's feet, alternating between rubbing against her and Vesha's legs.

Vesha laughed and slowly, as if not to frighten the alpha, which was ridiculous. He fell into the alpha's trap by untying his belt and using it as a leash around the alpha's neck. As if the alpha were a pet.

Sherlock growled at the alpha. He pulled himself up to his full height and bared his teeth. John was silent, but he held his spear at the ready. The alpha moved behind Sarabeth, grinning. A form of bared teeth.

Mollyhoo held back slightly. "Sarabeth, be careful." Mollyhoo held the tip of her braid to her lips. "I wouldn't let her rub against you like that. I don't have a vasopressing 1b receptor gene, but you do."

Sarabeth looked up from the alpha was purring, said, "Could you could translate that into something I can understand. If it's not the science of color, then I don't get it."

"I know." Mollyhoo sighed. "It was so nice while Sherlock and John were still unreverted to talk about science and medicine again." She looked at Sherlock sadly. "It's been weeks since Sherlock called anyone an idiot."

Sherlock gave her a sharp look, because if they were allowing an adult alpha out of the pit with the plan to take it into the nest, they were possibly too stupid to live.

Sarabeth laughed. "He has other ways of letting us know."

John growled softly and Sherlock left the other omegas to their stupidity. John leaned back against Sherlock. Sherlock rumbled and pulled John closer. Glaring at the alpha while rubbing his hands over the firm round curve of John's belly. Tenderly pressing his lips to John's neck where he'd made his marks so long ago.

Mollyhoo said, "The vasopressing 1b receptor gene is the part of our olfactory system that allows us to scent the difference between alphas and omegas. I don’t have it. If and this is a big if, an omega breeds with an alpha, through micro-chimeric transfer from the blastocyst to the omega that alphas scent become… really you wouldn't understand, but the pheromones in an adult alpha's urine that they haven't bred with can um…cause a pregnant omega's hypothalaumus to release dopamine, which prevents the secretion of progesterone, which could cause a miscarriage." She raised her hands palms up and shrugged. "Autopsies." Her lashes flickered. "Late stage autopsies."

John sneezed, which was exactly what was needed.

Sherlock bounded back to the cave and came back with two baskets. John looked at them dubiously, until Sherlock snapped off the limb of a tree above them. Began stripping the long thin needles from the branch. Snapped them in half and held them out to John, who sniffed at the sharp scent. Sneezing as he did so.

Understanding blossoming on his face. If the other omegas were going to be stupid, at least John could have a way to remain safe.

John rubbed his backside against Sherlock in approval. Sherlock nipped John's neck gently. Lightly twisting his teeth in the skin without breaking the surface.

Sarabeth shook her head. "And they're at it again."

"Mollyhoo," said Vesha. "I don't see why it's a problem. You said that we experiencing… I can't pronounce it, but false pregnancy symptoms."

"I said we could be experiencing pseudopregnancy due to any number of conditions, but that doesn't rule out," she glanced at Sherlock, "ummm… magic cock. Although, it remains the least likely of a dozen theories."

"I'm not going to let her pee on me even if I were," said Vesha quickly, "come on. She clearly wants to stay with us. You saw how she didn't run off. How she let me restrain her. You've always said we should have tried to keep some of the alphas with us. Gotten them used to us so they wouldn't have gotten so dangerous as they lost their language skills and um… the other stuff you've said. That the way John manages Sherlock proves it."

"Question is," said Marida, "who manages John? His temper certainly hasn’t improved since he," he waved his hand.

Sherlock pulled down another branch. They set to stripping it of its needles.

"She’s a healthy mature alpha. I can't scent her, but look at her," said Mollyhoo. "I can already see some of you exhibiting vaso-flush. Unless she's not going to urinate ever or you don't think she'll come into contact with her own urine, then I'd keep physical contact to a minimum until we can be sure that it is a pseudopregnancy." Molly crossed her arms.

Sarabeth said, "But that makes no sense, love. I've seen plenty of pregnant omegas walking around. Interacting with alpha. That's just old fashioned thinking."

"Honey, that's in the future, where we can get supplements. Treatments to counter the results. I keep telling you that there are reasons for all our traditions. Carrying to term is very difficult."

Sarabeth said, "And I can't be the only one who has noticed that since we reached three alphas in the caves, there haven't been any more attacks."

"Personally, I think that's because of the corpses Sherlock and John left outside of the valley after the last attack," said Mollyhoo.

Sherlock lowered his voice for John. His few words only for John. "Your kills." John had been beautiful flinging fire at the alphas that dared come into their valley, and threaten their home and family.

John whispered back. "Our babies." He tugged Sherlock's hand to rest on his belly. "Ours."

Sherlock found that tears were trickling cold down his face. John hummed and pulled him to his feet. Kissed his cheek. Whispered. "Love you."

He grinned. "Love you." Happy to be with John.

Mollyhoo sighed. "Marymor does seem pretty tame and we do have lye soap now, which... really Sherlock was very clever." She looked at what they were doing with the needles. “Huh... I suppose, yes, the release of aromatics in the Kava needles could... ugh... I wish I could talk to them." She shook her head and then agreed with a stupid idea.

Sherlock was even less happy to see Vesha leading Marymor into the gallery. Into the nest.

Marymor immediately began snapping at Henryba and Sawyersa. Sherlock was forced to stop nuzzling John, which he did not like.

John picked up the boom stick, but Sherlock shook his head. Opened his mouth to explain, but once again found the words missing. He made a gesture as if someone had fallen dead and inhaled once. Saw his wonderful omega's face light with understanding. The needles would help up close with the alpha’s scent, but not if they accidentally killed Marymor. Her death stench would pollute the nest. John might lose their babies.

Which meant Sherlock had to walk all the way across the cave and deal with the problem. Perhaps emboldened by the presence of so many omegas, more likely always her plan, but she slashed at him with a stone knife that she'd hidden somewhere. The edge sliced down over his chest, cutting deep. Whatever she'd been before she lost her memories, she'd had training to fight once. Memories that went below thought and into the memory of muscle.

Sarabeth screamed.

Mollyhoo shouted.

Sherlock was not in the mood. He was in the mood to lie in the furs kissing John. He was in the mood to breathe his mate's breeding scent. He was not in the mood to deal with this alpha.

He'd had training too.

Sherlock moved quickly, the alpha seemed so slow by comparison. He twisted the arm with the stone knife. Marymor kicked at him. Snapping her teeth at his neck. He slammed her back against the cave wall once, twice.

The stone knife clattered to the cave floor. She looked at him unfocused and dazed, blood in the air. Even that much scent marking was too much. Too dangerous.

The omegas were shouting at him. Vesha pulling on his arm.

Sherlock grimaced. He needed to deal with Marymor without scent markers. She was shaking her head and getting ready to go for the knife.

Sherlock sighed. He slowed into a punch that she blocked, which left her unbalanced to the sweep of his feet. She slammed to the fur and reed mat covered stone floor with a heavy grunt. He flipped her over and mimed the act of mounting her, while she growled and twisted. He bit down on the back of her neck. Nothing that would form a bonding bite, she was an alpha after all. Not enough to draw blood.

After a while she whined her false acceptance of his dominance. He let her go. She rolled over and displayed her belly and neck. Fluttered her eyes at him meekly. The twitch of her right hand already indicating that she was tensing to grab the knife. Stab up at his belly. Gut him.

She was right dominant. He gripped her right leg and brought it down over his own leg. Breaking the bone as neatly as he could.

She gasped, suddenly pale and limp. Gasping in pain. It was a clean break. No skin broken. It should heal. Certainly it would keep her out of his way and from bothering the weaker alphas. The omegas would be able to avoid her if they wanted.

As he went by, Henryba and Sawyersa were on their knees, exposing their necks. A waste of their time. He already knew they'd submitted to him and John. Still he cuffed Henryba's head affectionately, before heading back to John, who was stroking himself while watching Sherlock lazily.

Vesha and some of the others were taking Marymor out of the chamber, which was not good. They hadn’t even taken any needles. If her injury needed attention, but it should be one of the omegas that hadn't been bred, who could not breed.

But as long as John was careful, it was fine. He’d healed the members of his pride. What they did after that was up to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then to the various science bable about reproduction.  
> https://www.revolvy.com/main/index.php?s=Bruce+effect&item_type=topic  
> http://safebirthproject.com/multiple-births-basics/  
> http://www.ansci.wisc.edu/jjp1/ansci_repro/lec/lec9/lec9out.html  
> http://mommydocs.com/2011/12/the-truths-and-myths-about-birth-control-pills/  
> https://www.medicinenet.com/hormonal_methods_of_birth_control/article.htm#what_are_the_side_effects_of_the_pill  
> http://www.yourhormones.info/topical-issues/hormones-of-pregnancy-and-labour/  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Induced_ovulation_(animals)  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Breen_(Star_Trek)  
> https://scopeblog.stanford.edu/2015/02/24/sex-biology-redefined-genes-dont-indicate-binary-sexes/  
> https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2633676/


	11. Mollyhoo's POV

The fight had been fast. Almost too fast. And not really a fight.

Well, except for the knife. There had been a knife, which meant that the alpha were capable of lost planning for future events. Tool use in itself was one thing, but to conceive a future when a tool might be of use was a complete other framework.

John had retained that sort of thinking, but he was an omega, and Sherlock had, but she’d almost begun to put him in his own category. The other two alphas had regressed further and there had been no sign of long term cognition from either of them. Language skills, memory, everything further regressed.

It did make Mollyhoo wonder if a good supply of protein wouldn't have helped the alphas retain some memories. Not that she had a way to test.

She shook her head. There were injuries to deal with. While Marymor's injury was more severe, she was already getting care from half the omegas and then some. It wasn't as if they hadn't had some good examples for how to set a break since they'd arrived in the past.

Mollyhoo said, "Sherlock, you need to let me look at that injury." There was blood on Sherlock's chest. She'd seen the knife slice into him. A deep cut too. But she didn't see a wound. "I don't understand. There's blood, but no injury. Sarabeth, am I seeing this right?"

Sarabeth lit a candle in one of the clay cups and held it up to see Sherlock's chest.

John gave an aggrieved sigh. He took the cup from them and tapped Sherlock's chest. "Magic." He put his hand on Mollyhoo's belly. "Magic cock." He put his hand back on Sherlock's chest. "Magic." He put his hand on Sarabeth's belly. "Magic cock." He raised his eyebrows. "Babies.

Mollyhoo stared at him in shock. The words sinking in along with the reality of the closed wound on Sherlock's chest. John's lack of injuries despite some fairly risky behavior he'd engaged in since he'd arrived.

Until that moment, she had been certain she was experiencing pseudo-pregnancy symptoms. Obviously, John didn't mean actual magic and she wished she'd thought to ask John and Sherlock for more information about Sherlock's biology before they'd gone into a limited level of verbal acuity. Then again, "Magic cock," was certainly evocative.

That none of the omegas who had had sex wish Sherlock had resumed their estrus cycle was evocative. That they'd all expressed feelings of improved health. But Mollyhoo was a scientist. They had been sterilized. This was not their first winter or the first time they'd taken their lives in their hands having sex with the alphas. There was ample proof that none of them were reproductively active after Sarpedon's doctors had done their work.

Mollyhoo darted over to the knife on the ground. She looked around the cave to where the last few omegas to still be expressing an active estrus cycle, were moving restlessly. This round triggered based on the alpha pheromones in the chamber and aroused by the fight, but not ready to make a move. She ran the stone knife across the flame and sliced Ayaba's arm, repeated the steps with Fasha while Ayaba was still protesting. Mollyhoo said, "It's important before one of you, and only one of you, has sex with Sherlock," and they both quieted.

Fasha said, "Umm… maybe Henryba."

While Ayaba licked his lips and said, "I haven't gotten any magic cock yet."

"What are you doing?" asked Sarabeth. "Is there so much testosterone in the air that you're losing it?"

"Testing a theory," said Mollyhoo.

She said to John. "There's still some omegas that Sherlock hasn't healed with his magic cock. Fixed their sadness."

Sherlock picked up the pot of grease with a wide smile. He held it out to John.

John laughed. "Big strong alpha." He dipped two fingers into the grease and slicked his penis.

Mollyhoo held Sarabeth's hand as everyone got to it, not letting herself look away. "What is going on?" asked Sarabeth. "We have actually seen this before. It was sexier when I was in heat."

"Nope, this is science," said Mollyhoo, crossing her arms. "Sexy, sexy science."

Eventually, Ayaba crawled out of the pile groaning. "See what ya...um... meant."

Mollyhoo examined his arm. She examined Fasha's arm. The cut was healed. Not even a mark that it had been there. Fasha still had a small cut.

She looked at Sarabeth. "We're pregnant."

"But, that's not possible," said Sarabeth.

"Ayaba had a cut on his arm. He had sex with Sherlock. Now he doesn't. He’s been healed. We're pregnant." Mollyhoo's hand rest on her belly. She smiled suddenly. Tears filling her eyes. "I thought I would never get to…" She stopped cold reality setting in. "We're all pregnant! All of us. Most of us. I'm the one who convinced John to... in the stone age. There are so many complications that could kill us and we don’t even have birth control to prevent us from repeatedly...which fine we just need to collect Marymor's urine if we don't want to, which will work for everyone not me, yay, but every single one of us has genetic conditions that...I never even did a family work up on everyone... what if there are complications. Some of us have issues that can be corrected for. In the future where there was science."

"Unless Sherlock fucked us better," said Sarabeth, and got a punch in the arm from Mollyhoo. "I see being pregnant makes you aggressive." She lowered her voice. "I like it. Honey, I know you're a fundamentalist and you always followed the direction of your matriarch, but you are your own matriarch now. We can do this. We’ve been doing this. And I want… yeah. Let's do this. And if... if this isn’t something you want, we'll figure that out."

"Huh." Mollyhoo absorbed that idea. Titrated it into every stratum of her.

Across the cave, John tugged on Sherlock's arm. "New nest." He jerked his chin in the direction of Marymor's blood on the cave wall. Which, medical knowledge, instinct or whatever, John wasn't wrong. Marymor's scent couldn't affect Mollyhoo, but it could Sarabeth, "We need to clean up now. Lye soap. Some of the alcohol. The works."

Sarabeth grumbled, but did what Mollyhoo told her to do. Which really, what was love if not putting up with another person's crazy shite, which in this case was not crazy. Other than the part about getting pregnant in the stone age by someone with a magic cock. Magic penis. Whatever.

Mollyhoo really wished that bloodwork analysis wasn't beyond her. She really wanted to know what was going on.


	12. John's POV

John rubbed his hand in circles on his rounding belly thinking warm milk thoughts as he and Sherlock ventured out into the white puffy flakes of snow that were blowing off the higher peaks. Around them on the ground, much of the snow had already melted.

Sherlock looked back at John and grinned.

Which was fine. His ankles weren't swelling while carrying a load of summer cut grass on his back like… John didn't remember what it was like, but for some reason that thing involved someone old carrying grass on their bark and someone handsome offering to carry the load. Sherlock had his own load.

They made their way up to the meadow where what they were looking for were contentedly licking the block of salt they'd brought out in early winter and left in the field. Wooly brown creatures as high as John's shoulder that seemed to merge with the rocks, with a single twisted horn on their heads and yellow irritable eyes. They licked at the salt and moved forward in a rush as John dropped the grass to the ground. Fed more and more as the greedy things, with their bellies and udders low to the ground, clustered to eat. Water too, because if John carried the grass, Sherlock carried the water. There were a few early winter babies. Tiny brown fuzzy things that stayed close to their mothers. More interested in milk than grass that they couldn't yet eat.

They caught three that time. Not their best attempt. That had been the first time, when the animals had been less wary.

But they had a flock of some fifteen of the adults and nine more of the little ones. Sherlock plucked grass out his hair irritably after they penned them in the pit and with the wall they'd built before winter, because John was tired of catching alphas. Because… John did not like what they'd caught the last time.

John plucked out grass for him. "Big strong alpha."

Were walking hand in hand when they came into the entry cave to the scent of copper. Shattered pottery. An unattended fire. No one guarding the door. Screaming. They ran towards the sound. John knew what they'd find.

Most of the omegas had lost their young shortly after Marymor had arrived. Gone into heat soon after. Heat long since come and gone. John crossed his arms and huffed at the omegas who approached the small chamber that John and Sherlock had moved back into after Marymor's arrival. John did have his limits. If they wanted to breed with Marymor or the others that was their choice.

John had hoped that Sarabeth would be fine. Mollyhoo kept their chamber full of needles along with the grass. Sherlock hissed, which must mean he smelled something John could not or it could mean anything. "Marymor!" Or not. Sherlock almost turned to go, but John stopped him from going to find Marymor with a hand on his wrist.

John didn't have the words to say whatever it was he wanted. Instead he spread Sherlock's hand and rested his own against it palm out. The hands with their husband rings.

Whatever Sherlock got from that, he nodded. John stayed and helped Mollyhoo try to stop the bleeding. There was much more blood than with the others, but then Sarabeth had been farther along. Not much farther, but farther.

Sherlock returned with a pot of the soup generally left bubbling by the entry fire. He looked like he'd been rolling in the dirt and possibly shit. There were tufts of wool stuck to his arms.

Also, the soup was blue. John sniffed it and tasted it. It was creamier than bones and veg could make water. Sherlock mimed milking in a way that made John's heart squeeze. He would have kissed Sherlock, but there was soup in the way.

Mollyhoo looked at the bone milk soup, which since she'd been busy for the last several weeks, she didn't yet know about the wooly horned things. Her eyes widened looking at Sherlock, opened her mouth to ask questions. Closed it. Nodded. Said, "Here baby, drink some of this. It's good for you."

Sarabeth drank it quietly.

Far more quietly than Sarabeth ever was.

Mollyhoo followed John out of the chamber.

That night in their own nest, Sherlock, smelling of sharp soap, clung to John and all the next day offered him treats of dried meat and fruit from the stores. John nuzzled his mate to let him know that he understood. John was worried about losing the babies too.

By mid-day, Sarabeth's scent signaled that she'd gone into heat again following the loss of her kits. Mollyhoo whispered frantically, "It's postpartum estrus. Baby, tell me what you want?"

Sarabeth squeezed her hand. "Don't let them near me. Don't let me go to them."

John could no longer remember so many things. He could help Mollyhoo keep Sarabeth where she was in their nest. Sherlock stayed away and kept the others away too.

There were three more of the sheeplike things penned up by the time Sarabeth's heat had passed.

Time passed.

Ankles swelled and were rested. John's back ached. The other omegas came out and built a larger space for their flock, which was good.

He peed blood once or twice. He knew Sherlock could scent it. But there was nothing they could do, but make love. Heal what they could. Wait.

Sherlock said, "Future."

John opened his arms so Sherlock could rest his head on John's shoulder. They whispered, "Love you." And "Love you."

It would have to be enough.


	13. Mollhoo's POV

It was hard after the miscarriage. Especially as the life growing inside Mollyhoo made itself more and more evident. She was also fairly certain that all the other omegas were breeding again. Whatever it was Sherlock had done, it had been permanent, which was more than a bit horrifying. Birth control wasn't something she was sure she could reinvent, but they'd need it unless they wanted biology to take over. Birth control by miscarriage wasn't… it wasn't a plan.

There was a non-zero chance of dying that every omega faced when pregnant. The statistics that she was thinking about were for the future. Where there were hospitals. Even there, the Breenava had a higher chance of dying during pregnancy than the Fenisals. Although that was probably because of access to medical care, but this was a cave so minimum health care.

Mollyhoo had a vague idea that there had been some sort of herb used as birth control in a fifth Century kingdom on the northern tip of the southern continent, which was nowhere near where they currently were. Then there was post-partum heat. Not to mention that they'd be going into heat again on a natural cycle every winter. A cycle that either needed to be controlled or face early graves.

She forgot. She couldn't believe she forgot and mentioned her fears to Sarabeth. That had Sarabeth storming away. Shouting as angrily as if she was John, which left Mollyhoo feeling unsteady. Worried.

Mollyhoo headed down to the entry cave where most of the others were gathered. A few people were tending the fire. The unishaps were grazing on the greening hillsides. Jovas had been carding the unishap wool and was teaching a few of the others to spin it, slowly, half the time they dropped the spindle, but there were now skeins of yarn. One or two of them knew how to knit. Kenner was certain she could make a hand loom. There were possibly very many children on the way. If they survived.

At least Mollyhoo had questioned everyone on their family medical histories as soon as she realized what was happening, and none of them had a family history for high order multiples, which was a relief about one thing at least.

Marymor hobbled around on a crutch that Vesha had made. She acted as if each of the omegas was breeding because of her, which Mollyhoo found to be simply insane behavior for an alpha. If Sarabeth weren't angry with her, she'd tell Mollyhoo that she was being old fashioned, but omegas decided, not regressed alphas in a practically non-verbal state. Then again, after what Mollyhoo now knew to be miscarriages, there hadn't exactly been a lot of genome guarding in the nesting chamber.

Marymor worried Mollyhoo. She should feel bad about the broken leg, but really she was glad that Mollyhoo had to limp about. As it was, she'd tried several times to rub against Mollyhoo. Looking irritated when that didn't do more than make Mollyhoo shove her off. Really, she'd never heard of an alpha behaving anything like this.

She went outside and it was a lovely day. A day that she wanted to be sharing with Sarabeth. She felt awkward. Wrong footed. Wanted a solution for… everything.

John tapped her shoulder and gestured around them. The trees were full of blossoms. Bees were buzzing in those blooms. Birds were singing and making their nests. Toby had returned from his lady friend and was romping around the valley chasing fast running ground squivels. Toby came over to her as she came outside, which was a comfort. A large purring comfort that she'd missed.

She also got her first good look at John in months. Retching over a cliff, felt tunics, and candlelight wasn't the best way to see someone. As the only two who had not miscarried, she'd have expected their progress to be similar, but he looked months further along.

Still, his wide grin and good spirits lifted her mood. It also made her really want to do some bloodwork on him, but that was a near constant wish these days. She followed him as he made his slow way up the valley to a small ledge. John might no longer be able to discuss possible herbs for birth control, but he was still an excellent shot. Far better with the bow than she'd ever be. Toby was more than happy to gather up the various vermin that John hit as they emerged from trees or the ground.

Mollyhoo was glad she was past her initial nausea as she prepped the things for the stew pot. When they arrived back, Marida threw up in a clay pot, which set three of the other omegas off. They drank the blue unishaps milk afterwards, which really was high in all sorts of nutrients.

Mollyhoo had her eye on one of the cave chambers for some simple cheese making based on some things John had told her in the glorious three science months. Well, and Sherlock too. She wished any of them knew how to make paper, but perhaps bark if there was time the next year. Possibly not. There would be a lot of mouths to feed. But she had some ideas about terracing the valley. Cultivating food rather than hunting and gathering. They were herders now. May as well farm too.

On the other side of the fire, Vesha sat next to Marymor and cuddled with her as if she were Toby. He said, "What I don't get is why is John so big already? It's only been twelve weeks since we first went into heat. Mollyhoo is only just starting to show and John already looks like he's going to pop them out." His eyes widened. "You don't think Sherlock's magic cock makes a baby grow faster does it? I saw a play about something like that once."

"Don't be an idiot!" said Sarabeth, coming down out of the next chamber. Mollyhoo gave her a hopeful smile and got a nod in return.

Marymor hissed as she generally did when someone mentioned Sherlock, which spoke to a level of cognitive function that Mollyhoo hadn't thought the unprepared had before John and Sherlock had shown up. She really did miss her quiet clean morgue sometimes. Sarabeth sat next to her and kissed her cheek. Mollyhoo leaned into her while still rubbing Toby's belly with one foot. It was hard to tell which one purred more at the touch.

The past wasn't all bad.

She watched John reclining on hide stuffed with kava needles. He rubbed his belly. Sherlock curled at his feet and lifted John's tunic in a now fairly familiar sight of public fellatio, which exposed John's belly further.

"Fuck!" Mollyhoo stood up. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Toby snapped his tail restlessly, and butted his head against Mollyhoo.

"What?" asked Sarabeth, who stood up with her looking around wildly. She didn't see what Mollyhoo saw.

Of course not.

Mollyhoo said, "Most omegas are induced anovulatic. Responding to the release of seminal plasma and the distension of the posterior vagina, knotting, to produce and release eggs in heat resulting in singlets, twins, and triplets. But," Mollyhoo stroked Toby's fur, speaking faster and faster trying to get the horrifying thought out, "some omegas when exposed to high amounts of musth in seminal plasma during proestrus have increased ovarian follicle production that result in high anovulation. High order multiples, HOMs. Plus there's whatever is going on with Sherlock's cock, which if I had a lab I might maybe be able to figure out. Normally, only identicals are monochorionic-monoamniotic, but with HOMs, there could be dichorionic-diamniotic, monochorionic-diamniotic, and monochorionic-monoamniotic, which could lead to twin-twin transfusion syndrome, asphyxia, meconium aspiration, and hypothermia during and after delivery. We live in a cave! Then there are the preterm premature rupture of the membranes. Not to mention the risk to John of extreme preclampsia and…"

"Honey, slow down, what are you talking about?" asked Sarabeth.

Mollyhoo breathed in trying to keep from hyperventilated while John, oblivious to his peril, apparently came in Sherlock's mouth. Certainly Sherlock was sucking and John was shouting.

So what she said next was almost a whisper. "John, isn't just pregnant. He's very pregnant with lots of babies. That's why he's so big even though it's only the end of the first trimester. Even though the individual fetuses are the size of guaga fruit. There's always a risk in pregnancy. With multiple births, there's a lot more health risks. His pregnancy will be shorter and the infants smaller. I've done autopsies on high anovulatory omegas and it's not good. And given the reason Sherlock, who as I've noted before is stronger and faster than anyone else here is so stable is because of John…"

"Maybe that's why they're having so much sex," said Marida. "I just thought they were…" he shrugged, "it had something to do with the time dilation. But maybe Sherlock's… I don't know… keeping him healthy with his magic cock."

"Maybe, but that's not really going to be a solution when John is actually giving birth," said Mollyhoo. She chewed on the end of a braid of hair. "Although, during any pregnancy, there's a degree of fetomaternal microchimerism where fetal cells cross through the placental and blood-brain barriers and can migrate all over the body. Perhaps if any of Sherlock's offspring have inherited his whatever that is that he has, and they transfer some of that whatever to John, then John might make it. But there's no way to know."

John reached down and said very loudly. "Love you." Kissed Sherlock.

"Love you," said Sherlock.

It just about broke Mollyhoo's heart to see them ambling up past them, leaning against each other, nuzzling as they went further into the cave system. She leaned into Sarabeth. Not wanting to put her fears on Sarabeth. Not after what Sarabeth had just gone through.

Sarabeth kissed her and said, "Baby, don't borrow. We've got enough to worry about now." She put her hand on Mollyhoo's belly. "Plenty to worry about."

"Right," said Mollyhoo. "Right."

Still, she went with Sarabeth to watch her paint her best variation of the image Sherlock and John had requested so long ago. "How did the rock get so smooth?" asked Mollyhoo.

"I…I've been experimenting with rock hardness, since," Sarabeth made a vague gesture, "you know happened. Seeing which rocks are harder by rubbing two types against each other. Using the hardest ones to smooth down a few walls here. Make some of the shapes." She pointed to the outline of the Atavachron. The design that John had claimed was a starship. Nothing like the rockets that the Fenisals and Breenava had been using to slowly travel about the solar system. Somewhere in a distant future.

Mollyhoo watched as the love of her life painted the shapes black. Ochre for the stars. A fertility image that looked more like John than any of the others. Although, she had to snort at the representation of Sherlock. He might have a big, and apparently magic, cock, but it wasn't that big.


	14. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock had another confrontation with Marymor that came short of him breaking her newly healed leg. With most of the omegas shouting at him, he didn't.

Many of them had bred with Marymor. He watched the way she looked at the one or two she hadn't bred with. He and John would have to keep a watchful eye on her after the omegas gave birth.

Soon the caves would be full of young. All vulnerable.

As long as she stayed away from John, Sherlock could wait. He and John withdrew to their nest and hunted birds off the cliffs. He was even getting good at getting eggs from the various nests.

Mostly he wanted to be with John.

Sherlock breathed in John's comforting scent full of the rich layers of breeding and at the center of it all, John's own scent. He lay curled with John in their nest of furs. Coupled hungrily. Desperately.

It wasn't enough.

John bled. Time to time. Splotches. Sherlock held him and tried to think. Promise the future.

John grew more and more tired. Small wonder given the restless drumming inside him. Devouring his body with mass.

John grew angry in a moment. At least Marymor stayed away after he almost shot her.

Mollyhoo waved her arms at Vesha. "If he'd wanted her dead, she'd be dead. John's an excellent shot."

Sherlock didn't say that John had been missing many shots from the ledge near their nests. It was not because he lacked the words.

John lost words.

Sherlock could no longer see thoughts trapped as words faded away.

"This is so bad," said Marida after an all to brief visit ended in growls.

Sherlock stood in front of the cave entrance. Desperate. "John fine. Future."

"Sure," said Mollyhoo. "But if he isn't."

Sherlock bared his teeth and went back into the nest.

He could hear the other omegas. They didn't know he could hear them. They talked about what they'd need to do if John died.

Sometimes he tried to find the way to that place inside his mind to shut them out, but he couldn't find the door.

Sometimes he lay next to John listening to the tiny heart beats inside John, a faint pattered rhythm against the sound of John's heart. Heard when one went silent. Twisted angry with himself for wanting everyone and everything to live.

Sometimes he jumped up suddenly restless. Needing to solve something.

Do something.

Sometimes John pushed him out with a shout.

He glaring at the darkness in the middle of the night, when he saw Marymor dart out of the main entrance. She closed the door behind her. Lowering the latch. She'd never done that before.

Never betrayed she knew how to work it.

He followed her silently through the trees to the top of the valley.

She went past their sleeping flock. Climbed easily over the wall. On the far side, some dozen Alphas were prowling back and forth.

Marymor said softly, "Here."

A tall Alpha, twice Sherlock's mass, growled at her. He was familiar with her and she with him.

She bared her throat to him. He cuffed her once or twice. Humped against her backside in a dominance display, before rumbling an acknowledgement.

Marymor led them over the ridge and down into the next valley. She scrambled though rocks until she came to an overhang.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. The cave system was extensive. He'd intended to explore it more fully, but everything had kept him busy. There had been no time to explore the sections with sudden drops and sheer cliffs. He knew when he saw Marymor slide into a crevice between the rocks that she had kept looking.

Sherlock was too late to stop Marymor and the first three alphas from crawling inside, even jumping from rock to rock. He snapped a tree limb and impaled one alpha, while smashing another's temple with a rock.

The next two alphas were more prepared for him.

It didn't help them.

But nine alphas had gotten in.

He ran around to the main entrance. He didn't know where the system that Marymor had entered went, but he knew where he needed to go. He shouted, "Alphas!" as he ran through the entrance. Jovas, who had slept through both their departures woke with a start.

Mollyhoo and Sarabeth at least seemed to understand. Mollyhoo coming slowly given her condition with a smaller version of the boom stick that he'd shown her how to build. "Toby!"

Sherlock raced up through the caves to the place where the tunnel split between the gallery leading to the omega's nest and the cold chamber, beyond which lay Sherlock and John's nest.

There were growls in the nesting chamber.

Kenner screamed.

"Go!" Mollyhoo held up the cannon and a candle. "I'll stay here and shoot anyone who tries to get past Toby and me."

Sherlock snarled and went into the gallery. It was mostly dark, which was fine. Sherlock was built for darkness. Stealth. He followed the scent of water. Wet patches on the floor. They'd come through the underground river. He dropped behind an alpha and slammed him into a pillar. Giving away his presence.

Someone dropped a pot holding a covered candle. Flames bloomed in grease spilled from a pot and spread to the dry grass mats. Kenner was lying open eyed and dead on the ground amid the flames.

An alpha struck Sarabeth across the face. She grabbed a large bone needle used for sewing leather and stabbed him just below the jaw yelling, "Fuck you, Sarpeidon!"

Marymor was standing between the hulking alpha and Vesha. Sherlock's lips curled. She'd been a stupid to think that the first thing the lead alpha wouldn't try and do was end the omegas' pregnancies. 

Sherlock shouted and the massive alpha turned. He saw Marymor's smile as she rubbed against Vesha, reinforcing her scent in the presence of so many alphas. Not stupid. She was counting on Sherlock and the lead alpha killing each other, or at least injuring each other. Marymor casually kicked another pot of grease into the flames, which shot higher.

The alphas moved away from the fire. Towards Sherlock. Surrounding him. He jumped out of the way just in time as the lead alpha smashed where he'd been standing with a meaty hand. Cracking the stone pillar behind him.

The alpha was strong. The reason he'd managed to dominate such a large group of alphas. He ducked another blow from the lead alpha, just as a club struck him in his back.

Sherlock fell to his knees. Blows coming to his back and head.

Vesha picked up a torch and dipped it in the fire. He shouted. "Get away from him," and jumped through the flames.

Heedless.

Young.

Sherlock rolled to the side, knocking over an alpha, bringing him to the ground. Killing him as he used the force of the blow to bring him to his feet.

Vesha waved the torch around him. A dazzling blaze were the fire not raging behind him. The lead alpha swatted him casually to his knees.

Marymor screamed.

She jumped through the flames and leapt on the lead alpha's back, stabbing at him with her stone knife. She didn't hit an artery. Just meat. Slow bleeding. He slammed back against a wall. She held on. Yelling. He slammed back again. Ripped her off with one hand and flung her against a pillar.

Crack.

Marymor slumped to the ground breathing wet. Blood on her lips.

A boom from outside the gallery.

Sherlock snarled and raced towards the sound.

Footstepss behind him.

Mollyhoo stood over an alpha, pocked with wounds. Toby's muzzle red with the alpha's blood. "Look out!"

The lead alpha on his heels, smashed Sherlock into the wall. Running on. Intent on the scent that had made its way past even the cold room. Perhaps carried by the very wind that rushed through it.

John.

Sherlock shook himself and pushed himself to his feet. Made it into the cold room just as the alpha was crawling through the low entrance into their nest.

From the nest, John shouted. There was a whistling sound.

Sherlock yanked the alpha back by their heels. Pulled and swung. Let go. The alpha was a dead weight. Their face and neck riddled with small arrows. All disappearing as they fell from view.

Sherlock could smell what was wrong as soon as he crawled inside the nest, which now stank of the Alpha's piss and shit. Released in death when the arrow launcher slammed dozens of arrows into his face and neck. Blood. There was a lot of blood too.

And something else.

John's water had broken.


	15. John's POV

John was in agony. Split apart.

Mollyhoo said, "He can't stay here. Infants cannot be exposed to this."

John felt Sherlock lift him. Out of the entrance of their fouled nest.

Another alpha. Invader. Enemy. He bared his teeth at the stench. Sherlock stood up. The cold wind whipped around them. John shivered. Teeth chattered.

Sarabeth shouted, "Some of the others have started to go into labor too."

"What? But it's month's early. Of course, it's the stone age and everything is terrible." Mollyhoo yelled over the wind. "Get them down to the springs cave, heat the water, and get them into it."

"But you said they shouldn't…"

"That was pregnant. Now they're birthing. The babies need to come out someplace warm and free of alpha musth and that's as good as we've got. Go."

Split apart.

Sherlock chanted. "Live. Live. Live. Live."

John held on to the sound of Sherlock's voice. The feeling of his arms. His scent. Held onto the sound as another wave crashed around him. As Sherlock lowered him into warm water. After crushing weight, he floated.

He heard, "He's enormous." "When did he get so big?" "How many do you think he's having?" "Shut the fucking fuck up!"

Split apart.

Gripped Sherlock's hand. Released another scream to echo with others. He pushed down.

Sarabeth said, "Push."

Jovas said, "Push."

Mollyhoo said, "Push."

As if he needed to know that.

John pushed what was inside of him out.

Split apart.

Pain tore. Clawed. The scent of that alpha was still in his nose. In his skin. He wanted to kill the alpha again.

Sherlock chanted.

Jovas kept saying. "He's fine. He's fine. It's fine, Sherlock."

"But that one was…" said someone.

"It's fine!" shouted someone else.

Split apart.

It went on and on and on.

Finally, there was nothing more to push out.

Voices telling Sherlock to leave.

Sherlock's shouted, "No!" John didn't have the word. He held on to Sherlock.

John groaned as Sherlock lifted him out of the water. Beached him on stone near many bodies tired from labor. Sherlock wrapped around him radiating warmth. John clung to that warmth.

Mollyhoo told him things. Such tiny things. So tiny and fragile. In a box made of bones and full of felt. She still had hers safe inside her body. He was too tired to reach out. He hurt too much.

Mollyhoo said, "We need to move the babies someplace drier. We've been warming Sarabeth and my room. You just stay where you are and rest." He looked at her blankly, as the others left. "When your post-partum estrous hits, and you and Sherlock… I don't know how to get either of you to let go, and I don't know if it will heal you or kill you? I don't know if Sherlock… what will happen if you die." She was speaking, but it didn't mean anything. Nothing meant anything beyond the pain deep in his middle. "I hope this isn't goodbye." She looked at Sherlock behind John. She picked up the curved bone handle of the box and left.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. Kept telling him. "Live. Live. Live."

John slept.

When he woke. He felt as if there were a stone blade in this belly. He wanted to burrow into Sherlock, but he was too hot. He hurt too much.

John was burning up. His skin. His bones. His eyes. He crawled across the floor. He wanted to walk. He should walk. He crawled until he came to the cold chamber. He was not cold. Finally some relief. He flopped down on the mats breathing quickly. Viscous fluid between his thighs. He lay there listening to his heart beating.


	16. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock woke alone.

He could hear infants wailing from far away. Omegas crying. Talking. Always talking about death.

He was alone. He came out into the passage. The way down had been walled off with hastily piled stones.

That wasn't the way John had gone.

He followed John's scent. Stopped at the sight of him stretched out on a reed mat. Skin glowing in the light of a full moon. Twisting his hips in the air. His body's sharp edges softened. His scent ripe and lush. Milky motherhood and rich fertility.

Sherlock came closer. To see if John was well. To touch him. Be near him. He moved slowly. Carefully.

John growled, as if to say Sherlock shouldn't keep John waiting. Sherlock came closer. Closer. Closer. He crouched down. John rolled them both over. Sherlock could easily have struggled free, but he didn't want to. Not with John made of wet heat and rich scent. His mate above him, fierce and alive and lit by moonlight.

Sherlock could not more have resisted pushing up to his mate's delighted moans than he could have stopped breathing. Stopped the moon.

Even as a small terrified part of himself urged him to stop.

Stop.

A small part that his mate drowned out with satisfied cries when he knotted inside his mate.

His mate's breath caught in his chest in a tiny gasp. His body clenched, drawing another release. Slumping forward. Covering Sherlock like a blanket. His mate's scent growing richer. Drunk on scent and sensation, Sherlock couldn't resist delicate nips.

His mate's head fell to the side invitingly. Lovingly.

He renewed his bite marks. Breaking the skin. His mate's taste making him dizzy.

It was over by the time the moon rose over high over the valley.

Sherlock wondered hazily if the alpha's body had been picked at by scavengers.

Then froze.

He'd bred his mate again, and the last litter had almost killed John.

He whispered, "Love you."

His mate smiled back. Rubbed his body against Sherlock's. Looked worried as his lips moved, but no words came.

Sherlock could not remember a great many things. But he knew that John would die if they remained here. Either something would kill him, or Sherlock would cause his death. Had already begun the process of killing him again.

It was then, that he heard the singing.

The sound echoed up the valley. Strange. Disjointed as if many people in many places were making a song. Raising their voices.

From their bird's flight view, he could see the rise that led into the next valley. He saw brilliant yellow light spread out like feathers on a wing.

Now. Future was now.

He examined the cliff. Bright moon. Climbed before.

He crouched by John, wrapped his mate's arms around him. His mate wrapped his legs around Sherlock. Only yelping a little when Sherlock swung the both of them off the cliff.

On the strength of vague memory, he took careful hand holds.

He took risks.

He startled a bird into nighttime flight.

He passed the alpha's corpse stuck on a tree half way down the cliff.

He lost his grip.

He found his grip.

John never let go.

They reached the valley floor. Sherlock didn't stop. He raced towards the music. Towards the light, which divided. Shattered. Spreading out in a long line of brightly lit doorways.

With no way to choose, he picked one. Vision dancing. Dizzy. Almost thought he saw John and himself mirrored as they once had been. Not that light then. He went to the next.

He tumbled forward into the temple. Into row upon row of Breen in colorful robes.

They stopped singing when they saw them, and as one, knelt on one knee.

Except for his family. There was Mummy. Tears in their eyes – unlikely, unexpected, impossible – tears streaming down their cheeks. "Sherlock, you came back to us. You were able to go and come back as I had hardly dared hope."

It would have been better if he'd lost consciousness then. But a sensation not unlike being turned inside out and having his skin peeled off washed over him.

He and John fell to the floor. Vomiting. Bleeding from their pores. Sweating. Pissing.

At which point, consciousness was quite fortunately lost.


	17. John's POV

John woke up in a white room full of beeping machines. He woke to an audience and not a small one. Some twenty plus Breen wearing black armor with piping in varying colors and hues faced him like a swarm of colorful insects.

He looked up above him. He was lying on a biobed. Not a Federation biobed, but a biobed nevertheless. He croaked out, "Where? When am I?" John could remember going back through the time portal. His life in a cave melting into blurry images, a vague sense of being crushed alive, and then nothing. Like the worst sort of bender.

A Breen with brilliant green piping warbled at him. Tapped a control and a computerized voice said, "You've returned to your own time period, but you've been suffering from extreme time dilation from your journey into the past of five thousand years ago."

A Breen with bright blue piping chirped. A Breen rimmed with red said something long and trilling.

Soon the whole bunch were trilling at each other. It sounded like he was in a flock of birds, which was a bit more than he was up for at just the moment. He winced.

The green Breen held up a hand to cut them off. "We agreed to tell you what occurred. You landed in the wrong time. You," another several chirps back and forth, "moved through time several times." Another few chirps. "Multiple times. Once too soon. Once too far and then now."

"Oh," John's head fell back on the pillow. He felt his own body with his hands. It seemed very much like he normally kept it, which was an odd thing to do. He said very slowly, "How long have I been here? And where's my husband, Sherlock?"

"Like you, he's been in a coma for some weeks and is only now recovering. He was…" more chirps, "more violent that you were and had to be sedated."

"Take me to him." John tried to sit up and was struck with a wave of dizziness.

The blue Breen titled its head.  "There is something that you should know."

John pushed himself up, dizziness be damned, because whatever this was, he was going to hear it sitting up. "Oh, for fuck's sake tell me. And… take off those helmets already. I know you're all Human Augments. I have just spent several months living with your ancestors in a fucking cave. Take off the masks!"

The blue Breen answered by touching a latch on the side of its body armor. The helmet hissed with a pressure change. They removed the helmet to reveal a Human face with bright green eyes and the unmistakable scent of an omega.

The green Breen removed their helmet. Another Human omega. Also a Human with short cropped black hair and blue eyes. "Yes. They were our ancestors. We are like you." They bowed, hands pressed together. "I am Pavan of the 5th Alignment, and this is Veema of the 1st," they waved at the other Breen, who were slowly taking off their helmets. "These are the representatives of all the alignments.

Only the Breen in the red armor kept their helmet on. Pavan looked coolly at the unmoving red Breen. "That is a representative of the 23rd Alignment."

His head hurt, because as he recalled that meant Sherlock's parents. "But why the," John gestured at the helmets with their pointed noses, "if you're human?" Silly question, but he was curious and couldn't remember if he'd asked Sherlock.

"That's…" Veema paused, "a long conversation, but I can… no I can…look, we and the [Fenrisal](https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Fenrisal&action=edit&redlink=1), the other race who lived on this planet, fought for millennium over resources, until in our final conflict we finally destroyed our own world with a nuclear war. They," a quick tap on a monitor, "looked like this." An aardvark looking being appeared on the screen. Several Breen made complicated gestures in the direction of the monitor. "When we set out into the stars, we decided to remember them by the shape of our armor."

"Among other reasons," muttered Pavan. "The helmets keep telepaths from disrupting our minds."

"Reading our thoughts," said a Breen with white piping.

The red Breen tapped the side of their helmet. A computerized feminine voice said, "We've studied your Earth history. We had no interest in causing difficulties for our Augmented brethren on Earth if the Breen and the Federation ever came into conflict."

"That would not be the inclination of the 1st Alignment," said Veema, glaring at the red Been.

The red Breen said, "It is important that Doctor Watson understand the cost if he reveals what he's been shown to his Starfleet masters."

John hesitated. "But, the whole Augment thing is a little…" he shifted uncomfortably trying to think through the fog. Something was bothering him about what they'd said. "Sherlock thought you were the result of parallel Earth, but this isn't Earth. Humans have been seeded all over the galaxy because ancient aliens had strange ideas, but Augments are the result of humans tinkering with our own DNA in the mid to late twentieth century. Do you know how Augments ended up on this planet?"

"We discovered the answer eventually," said Pavan.

Veema blushed. Bright red. Brilliant red. "I…" Veema cleared their throat, "I thought I'd be better at this. But standing in your presence is overwhelming."

"Because unlike the 9th, you never believed you would!" called out a Breen with wide cheekbones and a hennaed DNA sign on their face.

There was something else. Something niggling. John struggled to sit up further chasing it. "Start at the beginning maybe."

Veema laughed nervously. "As a doctor, oh," they clutched armored hands together, "You are a doctor as I am, an unexpected alignment." At Pavan's cleared throat, Veema unlatched thier hands. "As a doctor, you know that it is not possible to trace inheritance genetically through the first twenty-two chromosomes past a few generations because of the sheer number of recombinations that are possible when gametes are produced through meiosis and then the pared homologous chromosomes separate. Why a single couple could have over 8 million possible genetic combinations and that's not even getting into when the genes between the two partners swap during the process of ummm…" they blushed again, "sexual and of course in vitro reproduction."

Something about that entire speech seemed vaguely familiar, not just the content, but how they weres saying it.

Pavan pinched their nose. "Try to reach the conclusion before we die of old age."

There were a few snickers and a muttered, "Typical 1st Alignment rambling."

"There's no indications that there were any Humans, Augment or otherwise, on this world before five thousand years ago. The first evidence is here, this valley," said Veema in a rush.

A Breen with golden brown eyes and long black braided hair said, "The second site is older!"

Which got a few muttered, "Fenisal inspired heresy," comments from some of the other Breen.

But the brown eyed Breen kept talking. "Just because Sarpeidon," inspiring several rude gestures, "believed it doesn't mean it isn't true." They turned to John. "I am Terellhoo of the 22nd Alignment and we're the only ones to hold faithful to the trinity of truth." More muttering from the other Breen.

"While my alignment believes the sites are the same age," said Pavan. "The lack of archeological record is the reason Sarpeidon," Pavan spat on the ground, and John shivered although the room was perfectly warm, "built the Atavachron, a time dilation machine. He was a Fenisal, who believed that our kind were an abomination. He sterilized what he considered to be the weakest of us and sent them back into the past. So the first ancestors would waste time attempting to breed with them."

"No, the records are clear. He did it to pollute our genetic pool with mutations," said a Breen with blue eyes and helmet matted blond hair. "We of the 6th alignment still say we should have used the device to prevent Sarpeidon from sending them back in the first place. Take us to the pure history when there was only the first mother and father."

There was more shouting about who would the children reproduce with and the need for diversity, and John winced. The Breen shouted a lot when not in armor.

Veema said, "The 6th alignment has made their perspective very clear through several wars. Our current compact is that they are our ancestors too. Just as we are all Breen. Their diversity lends us strength."

Terellhoo said, "That is the paradox. If you will simply take the evidence of the…"

Several Breen shouted, "22nd heresy!"

While Pavan shouted, "There are two sites."

They were all cut off by Veema, who gave a loud Bronx whistle. When the crowd quieted, they said, "We don't all agree on all aspects of what occurred. You must understand there are no written records remaining from that period."

John's head hurt.

Veema added, "Sarpeidon was also unstable and was eventually ripped apart by a mob when they realized that he was trying to create a time paradox that would cause the planet to turn inside out. Not that his successors were much better and thus the nuclear war."

"No, no, no!" said Pavan, glaring at them. "The theological point of interest is not that he sent our ancestors back. The question is where did we come from in the first place? We are not a serpent consuming its own tail. We have an origin."

"Here, here," said Terellhoo.

John had a very bad, sinking feeling. He opened his mouth, but couldn't find words. He closed his mouth.

"Now Pavan, you know we're all only going to argue if we get into this," said Veema placating, "Let's stick to the generally agreed upon theology." They smiled gently. "Doctor Watson, based on your condition, you'd just given birth prior to coming through the time portal and while chromosomal DNA can't suggest more than overall genetic groups, both Y chromosomal DNA from the father's haplogroup and the mother's mitochondrial DNA are a very different story." They grinned and spread their hands. "We believe…no… we know that you are our great mother, because not only are you are the only omega to reproduce in that era who did not originate on this world, but you are the one whose mitochondrial DNA upon which all the rest are based. You are the first omega before all the rest. You are… how does that scripture of your planet go… oh, yes, I know… 'I am the alpha and I am the omega.' Surely, it was speaking of you."

Admittedly, John's mum was only vaguely Anglican, but he was fairly certain that was not on, but not really his problem right then. White acid filled his stomach at the idea that he'd had children and memories were like a bunch of fish in a barrel. Squirting away as he tried to grab them. A flutter of sensation. Some sort of orgy. Sherlock's head bobbing as he fellated John, almost hidden by the curve of John's belly by firelight. He swallowed. "I… we… abandoned our children in the past?"

"No," hissed Pavan, "you did not."

There were several groans.

"Please, we've discussed this," said Veema. "We know Sarpeidon sent other Augments into the past, but…" They looked at John, "John is our first mother." They tapped a control. "And there's confirmation in our most ancient cave paintings." A monitor showed a cave painting showing star coordinates, the Atavachron and the Bakerstreet. There was also a pretty good likeness of John and Sherlock. Even if Sherlock looked like his cock was the size of his torso and John was a good deal rounder than normal.

"That one cause a lot of discussion for millennium," said Veema. "Sarpeidon designed the Atavachron based on the image to mock us and our beliefs."

"But he decided to send our ancestors back," started Terellhoo, before they were drowned out by the shouting crowd.

The monitor kept scrolling down to images of twenty-two smaller figures, less absurdly pregnant, and one slender figure with their face turned away. Two alphas with their cocks erect and fully knotted knelt in front of the Omegas. Another lay on their back, even if their cock was at full-mast.

"All, the subject of a great many of theological debates," sighed Veema. "Things became clearer, well, later. When you and um… our great father… um… showed up the last time we held a Conchordia Ancestrum. Three hundred and sixty four of your Earth years ago and… and informed us that this isn't our home world."

Many of the Breen made complicated gestures around the room. A few whistling sounds reminiscent of their helmets.

"I… I don't remember doing that." John struggled to remember.

"It's just the time dilation," said Veema. "You came through. Realized that it wasn't the right time, jumped back before we could stop you. Came through again, to a Conchordia Ancestrum, the last one in the far future,"

"Although, some argue that that Conchorida Ancestrum is the first one," said Terellhoo. "As from it stems all the rest. Because the future told us to hold these events until word came from the past that all need had ended."

"As I was saying," said Veema loudly. "You found out when you needed to go, and came here and now. A little the worse for making so many time jumps."

"How exactly did the future send you a message?" John spoke through his hand, trying to hold in his horror that he and Sherlock had left infants, their infants, any infant in a technological void. A wasteland. An era without antibiotics or replicators or even metal. After all those starts, the time they'd finished had been there and they'd left them.

Pavan said, "The future sent a psychic message to our ancestors to start holding the Conchordia Ancestrum. It drove an entire mining station insane. Of course, they only told us to hold them until word came to stop."

Veema said, "They continued to drive many insane until some brave souls returned to this world to hold the first of the Conchordia. That was before we developed the radiation shielding. They could not be allowed to contribute to reproduction after that event, and so we developed our current methods of," Pavan coughed, "Never mind. But you must have gone to the future. Who else could it have been? It's only logical."

John hadn't known Sherlock for a decade for nothing. "It's not logical at all. It's…conjecture."

Veema said, "In our previous Conchordia Ancestrum, you told us what we needed to know. Then we only needed to trust in fate and wait."

Pavan snorted. "There was a brief war over whether we should intervene in fate, and free the Khans, which I will remind everyone," multiple Breen scowled, "We were absolutely correct to do."

Veema rolled their eyes. "Yes, well, the final moments were the most important ones and those really were random chance." She smiled tightly. "If some alignments had shared earlier what they knew, we could have ensured you better prepared for your journey," Veema glanced at the red Breen, "But it all ended up well. We will hold the Conchordia Ancestrum until you arrive in the future to tell us to stop."

Pavan crossed their arms. "You are ignoring the secondary site, as most Alignments do." Many of the Breen whispered to each other, but John wasn't Sherlock to make out their words.

"Because it's apocryphal!" said Veema widening their eyes meaningfully with a glance at John.

"No, it isn't," said Terellhoo. "Show him."

Pavan reached across Veema and changed the display. This cave painting was much cruder. The same star maps, but simpler. Something that could have been Atavachron. Something that could have been the Bakerstreet if John squinted. An image that had been defaced. Then two distinctly different hand prints in black and ochre. Around them were at least a dozen smaller hand prints in different colors.

Pavan said, "My Alignment," the was emphasized as they looked around the room, "believes that Sarpeidon," they spat on the floor, "succeeded in causing a temporal distortion, but not on the planetary level." They brought up a map. There were two location pinpointed. "These cave paintings were drawn in cave systems fifty miles apart."

"I don't understand." John was really tired of not understanding.

Veema scowled, "Pavan's alignment believes something impossible. That because you and…ummm… your…the him… were…"

Pavan cut in. "We believe that when you travelled into the past, because your presence was a pivot point in our history, your entering the portal caused two versions of yourself to travel through. One arrived in the Valley of the Ancestors where the sophisticated cave paintings were drawn," Pavan pointed at a location on the map, "and one where the cruder drawings were made. The pair near the sophisticated drawings, you, were sent to an earlier timeline and spent long enough for the time dilation to revert you to a more primitive state. While the pair who made the cruder drawings were only in that time period for a few days. Not enough time for the time dilation to take effect. They journeyed to the Valley of the Ancestors. Heard our singing. Travelled through the portal. Learned they were in the wrong era. Went through again, this time ending up in the future. My Alignment believes that on learning that their offspring had been left behind, they chose to be prepared against the time dilation in the future, and returned through the portal to ensure the survival of their children."

"And your Alignment believes heresy," said Veema, "You 5ths are as bad as the 22nd." They waved at Terellhoo.

Pavan looked disgusted. "No, we are nothing like the 22nd.

"Like and unlike," said, Terellhoo to the mutters of the other Breen. "We believe there was a third version of the Great Mother and Great Father of our race," with several shouts that what Tellerhoo was saying made no scientific sense, "who travelled to the past as the result of an unrelated accident and that they had full access to some form of advanced technology, such as a shuttlecraft."

"As if traveling in a dekyon storm could cause quantum fractures of that size!" said a Breen in white piped armor. "The energy alone…"

"Which our readings show was there. We now have proof," said Terellhoo.

The room exploded into arguments between the Breen, which John really just didn't not have the patience for. "Children!" The room quieted, which was a little disturbing.

For a moment, then Pavan, as if he'd been bottling the words up for a few centuries said, "In the first recording, you're in perfect health. The Great Father is wearing what we now know is a current era Starfleet uniform. The two of you very coherently explained our real planet of origin, and other," he glanced at the red Breen, "relevant facts, and left again. Now two…" Pavan waggled his hands, "far less coherent and completely naked individuals, with longer hair and far more unkept hair, showing signs of recently giving birth." Pavan held up a hand when Veema opened their mouth to protest, "Doesn't it make sense that the more coherent versions, armed with preparation by the future, went back into the past to care for their children? Our first ancestors. Ensuring the survival of our species."

The red Breen trilled after its long silence.

"I…" said John, "think I'd like to put some clothes on and be taken to Sherlock."

"Oh, yes," said Veema. "Your ship is almost here. They just lost contact with your shuttle."

"But," John's head ached, "you said we've been here for weeks."

"Great Mother, not to impugn your intelligence, but you arrived through a time machine," said Veema slowly. "When you came through the portal this time, you arrived at the beginning of the ceremony. We finished it. Cared for you. Then weeks later, your shuttlecraft crashed about," they checked a chronometer on the wall, "two hours ago." They smiled brightly.

"But you can't let us go through," said John.

"Uh… that would prevent our species from existing," said Veema. "I don't think so. We have…" the red Breen whistled warningly, "Anyway, you went through ten minutes ago. That point in time is now lost."

John put a bare foot on the ground. "You!"

"Us," Veema said brightly. "Because of you. Thank you."

John held his temper. He held it. He was not going to unload on his great-something relative. "Take me to Sherlock."


	18. Sherlock's POV

The first time Sherlock woke up, he cursed at Mycroft. "You knew!"

Mycroft didn't answer, but his silence was sufficient.

Sherlock response resulted in further sedation.

The second through fifth times, Mummy was there. Sherlock remembered the massive buildup in candle wax on or around the stanchions between when he first arrived in the temple and the minimal buildup of wax on those same stanchions before he'd lost consciousness, and realized that the moment that he'd contacted Mummy to discuss his miscarriages, he'd already arrived back in the future. That while he and Mummy had shared the most honest conversation they'd ever had, a future version of him had been under sedation.

Which resulted in more sedation.

The eleventh time, Sherlock woke determined to convince his parents to let him go. To find John. Apologize for abandoning their children in the past, and do something about it.

But Mummy was implacable. More emotional that he had ever seen them, but implacable.

While First Father was almost pleading. "My son, you must know, I knew nothing of this. I only insisted on your training as a child to overcome what your sister… I didn't know."

"I also did not know," said Second Father. "While I would remind you that had nothing to with creating the monster that damaged you."

"Do you mean Euros, who you never told me about, or is there some other monster?" asked Sherlock from where he was trying to project calm while held down under with force bands.

Mummy sighed and sat on the bed next to Sherlock. "It's true your fathers knew nothing of this. I kept this from them, knowing they would never agree. Reserve your anger for me."

"We shall reserve our anger," said Second Father. She glared at the wall. "I cannot believe that you kept all knowledge of this from us. Now that Sherlock has come and gone, there's no advantage left to be taken from the situation."

"There was no guarantee that he would return. Only hope. And we've already gained what there is to gain," said Mummy. They looked around them at the white gleaming medical room. "We were rescued and given a place to grow." They recaptured Sherlock's hand for a brief touch. The oils from their hand should not comfort Sherlock, but biology was biology. "We have had our child return to us from the past."

Second Father tapped her fingers along the tight curves of her leather trousers. "The Breen do revere their ancestors, which we now know means us. Perhaps," she crossed her arms, "there is the still the issue of the Alignments self-induced problem. There's advantage to be gained there."

"Is that even real?" Sherlock tried to keep his voice level. "Or a ruse to disguise their true purpose in rescuing you. To create me to create them."

"Oh, no. That problem is and was real. They do still need our help, but my son," an additional squeeze of Mummy's hand, "you cannot go back to help the children you left behind. Having..." Mother took a deep breath, "experienced this precise pain myself, I understand your desire. I left a part of myself behind when I departed on that sleeper ship. I learned when the Breen awoke me that there was a way to go back in time to bring my son to safety in the future. It was as if I lost him once again, when they explained how in doing so I would unravel everything. All the work that he did to save children like himself. Ensuring that Augments survived into the future. "

"Please, you abandoned Mycroft without a thought." Sherlock repressed his own understanding that he hadn’t given a thought when he’d carried John through the portal. He remembered that much.

"I left him because it was too dangerous." Mummy hissed. Their eyes full of tears. Their expression fierce. "I calculated the odds. Any of our ships had at best one in one million, three hundred thousand and sixty-three percent chance of completing the journey. I wanted to take him, but I had to trust he was strong enough, clever enough to survive. As it was," their eyes glared at his fathers, "your fathers' ships were still drifting in space when I found them. Many of the sleeper units broken. Nothing but corpses. I could have taken their genetics and left. They never would have made planet fall before the last of their fuel gave out. I chose to free them."

"All you had to do was..." started Sherlock hotly, but he was cut off.

"I had to trust that Mycroft would survive, as I had to trust that you would be able to use all that we drilled into you to survive in the past. I had to trust that my training would overcome what Euros had done to you."

"And what did Euros do to me? What did she do?"

"It isn't important," said First Father.

Second Father said, "She broke you."

Sherlock felt the weight of those words and focused on the important point. "If I am so broken, send me back!" Sherlock didn't remember much about the last few months. He remembered enough. "If I’ve learned anything about any of you over the years, it's that your children are replaceable. Lose a Mycroft. Clone a Mycroft. Euros acts out of line, freeze her. Euros breaks my mind, hide me away. For all I know you have a clone of me somewhere. Frozen and stacked like cordwood. To be decanted if I died, ready to thrown into the past as needed."

Mummy hissed, familiar eyes narrow, "Perhaps it was a weakness to desire some part of Mycroft back. But I did not simply clone Mycroft. I do not have clones of any of you."

"Ha!" Sherlock would have gestured his opinion of yet another blatant lie from his mother, but he was too constrained.

"Think! To be a clone, I would have had to create an exact duplicate. While Mycroft's phenotype is the same, I made sure to remove his father’s DNA where I could and replace it with a far more worthy individual’s genetic material."

"Which we discovered was also for your own purposes," said Second Father. "No wonder you were so insistent some of your offspring include genetics from psychic races. You were trying to create those future descendants that will send the Breen the message into the past. They must be the children of Euros if they broke so many minds."

"The Breen gave broad parameters, but I chose the genetics to use," said Mummy. They shook their head. "Sherlock, everything I have done for you has been to ensure your survival when the moment came." Mummy sighed. "You speak as if it is easy even with the Breen’s technology to create a child, when you know very well it is not. Especially one like yourself with only Augment Superior parents. I tried hundreds of times and failed for each of you. Of all my children, it had to be you. There is... a recording."

Second Father threw up her hands. "Of course, there is a recording."

"Show me, you owe me that, Mother."

"You owe all of us," said Second Father. While First Father remained silent.

"No. I do not." Mummy unclenched their hands. "But I will show you nevertheless."

His mother hit a control and the monitor flared to life. Sherlock watched an image of the portal. First John, in his doctor’s fatigues, and himself in uniform walked through it into a hall full of armored Breen. A Breen in the armor of the 1st Alignment removed their helmet, and welcomed them on behalf of the Breen to their most sacred ceremony in which they sang to the past.

He heard John say, "But this makes no sense. Humans may have been seeded around the galaxy, but Augments are the result of humans tinkering with our own DNA on Earth in the twenty-first century." John had said the same thing when they’d first arrived in the past. He heard himself come to a realization that the Breen were not the result of parallel development on a parallel Earth.

So not the same timeline. They hadn’t lost their ability to think until months later in the past and their clothes would have been far worse for wear if they'd been in the past long.

More and more Breen removed their helmets. Exclaimed about how this was the moment that the future had told them to wait for.

He saw that other John take that other Sherlock's hand. Kiss it. Look up at him lovingly. He heard John say. "Maybe some colony ship landed here somehow. Was thrown through some sort of time fissure. Maybe something to do with the storm. Founded a race like those Khans always wanted."

His other self-called John an idiot. Softly and with no force.

In the recording, the Breen asked about the Khans. John recited a brief precis of the history of Earth's augments. The Eugenics wars. As might be predicted, he’d thrown in a reference to the Lady of the Flowers and the Analyst. His own interjections with details where John overly romanticized events. The other John wrapped up by saying, "Main question is, what is the Stardate?"

When the other the versions of them heard the answer, they jumped back through the still open portal with an airy, "Off to the future."

The recording ended.

His mother said, "You didn't wait to hear the result of the Breen bio scans. You didn't know that your husband's mitochondrial DNA and your Y chromosome DNA are a match for the earliest Breen."

"My Y DNA," whispered First Father.

"It had to be yours," said Mummy without a change in expression. "I had no choice in that."

First Father nodded. "So, it would seem I left children behind on Earth and grandchildren here." His earlier desperation had subsided and he looked contemplatively at the frozen image of the portal on the wall.

"Lovely," said Sherlock.

Into the silence that followed, Mummy said, "The Breen sent an operative to Earth to help that ancestor your husband is so proud of and… Mycroft," said Mummy. "The woman who was imprisoned in Colonel Green’s castle. The one missing her arm." Mummy's look was sharp. "She sacrificed much to help us. Consigned herself to a primitive world, because she believed in what she had to do. Help fate along."

Sherlock had a horrifying thought. "Did you engineer John too? Put him in my path?"

His Mother laughed. "My son, you have a high opinion of someone who was busy building a place among the Breen. In creating you."

"The Breen, then."

Mummy shook their head. "Far too many variables and disagreement among them. They settled on creating the conditions. Enable as many Augments as possible living on Earth to survive Green's purges. Not that they haven't been on the lookout for your husband. They got a little annoyed with Grendel, but they…" Mummy shook their head, "have a deep faith in genetic destiny." Assumed a droll expression. "It would seem to be why they are so patient about the resolution to their self-inflicted biological problem."

Sherlock felt very tired. Probably a side result of the sedation. "Please, take me to John. I need to talk to him. Then let me go back to at least help our children."

First Father said, "No, you are not replaceable."

Sherlock was one step from being sedated again. He must be calm. "Mummy, when you kidnapped me from my quarters before the Borg attack, I had a thought that it was over my well-being. But you had access to Sarpeidon's records. You knew he sterilized all the omegas who went into the past. That's why you modified my healing abilities."

"It was not the only reason," said his Mother calmly. "As you noted, the Breen had more than one problem that they came to us with, one of which we have yet to resolve. If I tied a possible cure in with the child they expected me to send back, all the better encouragement for them not to interfere in your return."

"Sod off," was the only reasonable response.

"No." Then Mummy sighed. "Sherlock, you can't go back. The window closed while you were in treatment. That time window won't open again for another three hundred and sixty-four years. If you were to open the portal now, it would open to a completely different point in history. The last time moment to go through was when you crashed on this planet."

Sherlock absorbed this. Wanted to do nothing more than retreat to his mind palace.

So, of course, Mycroft came into the room, his red helmet under his arm. "Mother, great Khans, the other alignments shared what you expected them to share, but as you requested," he glanced at Sherlock, "I ensured that they only shared only part of what there is to know. John is on his way."

"You may not believe me, Sherlock," said Mummy, "but I love you and everything I have done has been to ensure your survival. And… given the nature of your conversation before you went into the past, if you wish to use the uterine replicators," they smiled softly, "then speak to John about staying. You would be more than welcome to come home. Or don't, and know that we're here. But you should know that your husband is currently,"

"Mummy don't tell me," Sherlock didn't want Mummy to finish that sentence. He really didn't need this discussion with them just now.

"Son, we know how hard it is to lose a child," said First Father. "You can try again." Which was not what Sherlock wanted to hear at all.

"You can let me up," said Sherlock tiredly. "I won’t try to go through the portal."

For once, Mycroft didn’t look to Mummy. He released Sherlock so he could get up.

Sherlock asked as he brushed by him, "Did you arrange for the Watson's tour so that we'd have to come by here on the way back to the Bakerstreet?"

"No." Mycroft's smile was wry. "Even knowing what was at stake, I couldn't."

Sherlock sighed. Nodded. "Where is John?"

He felt as if he didn’t let out a breath until he saw John again. Wondered if John could forgive him for abandoning their children.


	19. John's POV

John got his clothes. Sherlock got his. They looked at each other. Looked at the gathered Breen. John lifted his chin to indicate how he felt about the whole thing.

Sherlock nodded silently, standing close to John.

The Bakerstreet hailed the planet. In an hour, they were back on the ship as if nothing had happened.

John left Sherlock in the transporter room and headed straight to sickbay as was his habit after this sort of adventure. Privacy shield up, he found what he'd expected. He dealt with it as he always did. Put the possibilities away in a cube in his desk. Except for the ones that had created an entire and fairly warlike species that even the Klingons respected.

Memories of that time drifted like smoke. Teased at the edges. Memories of making arrows. Spears. Guns. Mixed with vague history lessons he'd absorbed as a child, but the Breen had always been so far away. Garnering no more than a few lines in history classes.

He didn't page through history now. That would just be avoidance.

He went back to their quarters.

Sherlock was dicing an onion. There was a bowl full of onions already diced. His eyes were red. There were silvered trails down his cheeks. A tear was working its way over one of his impossibly high cheekbones. His nose was running.

All of which made sense because onions.

Sherlock positioned the butcher's knife over the curved half of a yellow onion. Slowly pushed down and there was the heavy thunk of the blade hitting a freshly replicated cutting board. John would bet the steel blade of the replicated blade was razor sharp too. 

Sherlock said, "I see you've completed what you set out to do in sickbay." Another cut. Another sharp thunk. The blade embedded in the board.

John felt a dizzy wave prickle from his head and down to his toes. He swallowed. "What… what do you mean?"

Sherlock stared down at the blade embedded in the wood. Placed the palm of his left hand on the board and pulled up with his right. The board rattled on the counter top. He contemplated the onion. "It is perhaps late in our relationship to ask this question, but… is your aversion to reproduction itself, or is it to…" another slice, a rather dangerous swipe of Sherlock's hand across his cheek with the hand holding the knife, "reproduction with me? I realize I haven't exactly proven myself a good father figure," a quick slice through the half round. More of a quarter round by now, "in the past."

He knew what John had gone to sickbay to do. Of course, he knew. He was Sherlock. He also didn't know. There was an entire spectrum of information that John had kept from him. Nothing like the Breen were Humans, but… possibly something Sherlock should know about.

A wave of hot then cold swept through his body. Dizzying. Every other time, they'd just not talked about it. Pretended nothing was happening. Except the time Sherlock had felt the only way he could ask John if he wanted children was to turn himself into a child. Except the time he'd tried so desperately to have them himself.

John hadn't just come through a time portal, but he wanted to throw up.

There was a box in his office. He could just open his mouth and say something.

John bought himself some time by replicating a butcher's knife for himself. A few onions. His knife technique was good. He quickly diced a white onion into fragments. "It's not you." A horrible beginning. He ripped the skin off another onion. Wiped a few tears away, because onions. Peeled off a truth. If not the more immediate one. "When I was younger, I wanted to get into Starfleet so bad. Then there was dad." Chop. Chop. Chop. "Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I think about him. Killander said that Dad targeted certain parts of the colony population. The ones who weren't Augments, and I've gone over the manifest of who he selected to die. He rigged the lottery. Prick wasn't wrong." Chop. Chop. Chop.

"Ah," said Sherlock. He put down his own knife. Rearranged the onions on his cutting board. "Yes. Your father. 4000 people dead."

John could reassure Sherlock about his parents, because… it wasn't that. John honestly didn't care about that. He waved a knife to let Sherlock know so he could get to what he was trying to say. "We had some part in breeding a race that… I guess wiped out the native species on a planet, bombed that own world into a nuclear oblivion, and have been fighting all comers ever since." John put the knife down, because he was not regenning his eyes. Blinked for a fair bit. "But, Sherlock. We have something good." John grabbed his Sherlock's hands. Willed Sherlock to believe him. "I love you." A true thing. Fragile and strong and just fucking true.

"Yes." Sherlock shifted his hands around John's. "And I love you." He rested his forehead against John's.

When they pulled away from each other, they didn't let go. They had dinner. Something replicated where they could keep holding on. Vulcan plomeek soup.

John pushed around the soup. "Puts a whole new spin on your brother working for the Breen. The 23rd Alignment stuff."

Sherlock looked at him with a very odd expression. Sorrow and surprise, and just a bit as if he thought John was still suffering the effects of time dilation. "John, the Breen in red was Mycroft." He laughed with no humor. "To a certain way of thinking, I am a Breen. We all are."

"Huh," said John processing that a bit. "But then why didn't you know…" he waved at the pile of onions, "about all this? It didn't sound like it was a secret among them." He didn't want to ask – didn't want to even think – that Sherlock had known any of this was a possibility.

Sherlock said very slowly, "I have mentioned that what I remember of my youth was extremely isolated."

"Yes," said John, not wanting to press even harder on the wound. Letting Sherlock lance it himself.

"The Breen traded the Ferengi the technology for space flight in exchange for their moons among other things,"

John thought about the various encounters over the years with their great-great-somethings. "Yeah, they do seem to like to do that sort of thing."

"I... my parents hollowed a space on the larger moon. Under the Mare of Acquisition. Built a sort of palace using holographic emitters." John remembered Sherlock's Mind Palace and had to wonder if it was a replica of where Sherlock had grown up. "That's where my first memories begin. I always thought it was because they thought something was wrong with me. After our encounter with Euros, the brain damage we discovered appeared to confirm that there was. That they were always pushing me, always training me because they wanted to fix me. I discovered," he looked down his lashes covering eyes that looked as green as a troubled sea, swallowed, "Mummy knew. They pushed and pushed because they wanted me to come back. Unlike Mycroft. The first one."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. Neither of them mentioned Victor, the brother Sherlock didn't remember. John wondered if Chin knew about all of this. If Billy now knew, but it wasn't the time for that.

"Sometimes they would visit. More often there were holographic versions of them." He leaned into John's hand. "It's where they took me when the Borg were invading."

John moved to face Sherlock, "That's why you left?"

"Yes. It was not by choice." Sherlock looked down. From this change of angle, his eyes were dark slate gray shot through with gold. "When I returned, I wondered what would have happened if they had not taken me. Especially when I saw the marks on your neck. You must had thought I abandoned you."

John shook his head. John told himself, "Tell him about the box." He repeated it until he about thought he'd said something.

But Sherlock didn't react, so he must not have.

They finished their meal. Unmattered the dishes. Got rid of the onions. Laid down in their climate controlled room on a mattress that had been replicated to John's specifications, because Sherlock didn't care as long as he was near John. The lights of the stars blurred past the window while they lay in the dark holding each other and pretending to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And angsty end of story #1.


	20. A Slightly Different Sherlock's POV

The logical thing to do after picking an incorrect portal was to pick the next portal over, but curiosity overcame Sherlock. After all as long as they were quick, there was so much they could learn.

John followed his leap through the final portal.

He certainly didn't expect to be confronted by a nearly empty room with only two occupants. The temple was different. More ornate. Full of sparkling panels that displayed shifting images.

He wasn't expecting to see Euros, fully grown up. Approximately his own age if it came to it. Although, the expression in her eyes was older. Much older. Next to her was Trelane looking much the same as he had the last time he'd kidnapped the crew. He didn't expect Euros' hug or for her to say, "I've missed you so much and I ran out of soft points when I could see you."

"What is going on?" asked John, his hand fluttering for the phaser he wasn't wearing, which had been near constant for their brief visit to the past.

Sherlock pulled back from Euros. "The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me."

Euros giggled. "That was ages ago." She waved a hand. "Although," she moved her hand as if swooping a bird. "Linearity. We can make up all over again. And without the dying this time."

"What!" said John.

"It's my love's three hundredth birthday and I thought, what better present than someone she misses," said Trellane with a bow of a tricorn hat. "But I may have needed to be subtle. The parents, don't you know, tend to be a little," he waggled his fingers, "annoyed when I mess with the timeline. But this hardly counts. Hardly count at all."

Behind them, the Atavachron popped and showered sparks. Trelane shrugged. "It was an antique and in all fairness I'm the reason it didn't do that while you were travelling through it. He grinned. "Subtlety is my middle name." 

Euros swayed. "You're going to love the future. You really will. And anyway, they won't miss you, but I will." She lowered her voice. "There's psychic ice cream in the future and talking otters."

John slipped his hand through Sherlock's. After a long pause. "Suppose I should get to know all my in-laws."

Sherlock grinned. As long as John was with Sherlock, it would be fine. And really, the future could be a grand adventure until they figured out how to get back to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less angsty end of story #2.


	21. Mollyhoo's POV

Mollyhoo drank her wylla bark tea. Good for the sort of aches that came of a well lived life. Sooner than they would have in the future. Longer really than was probable given the level of technology. Sarabeth was sleeping. She was recovering well from the surgery to remove the lump in her left breast, but still it had taken a great deal out of her.

Mollyhoo wasn't tired. She should be. She had plenty to do. Instead of doing it, since the day was pleasant, she went to the top of the tallest tower with Toby the fourth. Looked fondly out at the valley with its little squares fields. Each tended by a different family alignment with the produce shared in common. Herds of unishap grazing on the mountain sides of the next valley over. Baskets of their dung gathered for the fields. Little houses made of kiln hardened bricks. Bricked refrigeration granaries on the high mountainsides built to capture the cold wind and keep out pests. Brick and mortar towers as it came to it too.

She peered out at the next valley. In the distance there was a white box like shape pulled by some a yoked team. Larger than any cart she'd seen the Fenisals use in this time period. Around the massive cart were figures astride vashcats, but her eyes were no longer good enough to make out more than vague shapes. She said to Sherjo, "What is it? Another attack?"

Three years before, a raiding party of Fenisal had burned the fields in the next valley. They'd always known there was the beginnings of a good sized Fenisal empire to the south. Now they knew when that empire expanded north. The alignments had voted. Each matriarch speaking for her family. It wasn't as if there weren't fragmented Fenisal city states in the farther north. Some had wanted to head to the South continent. Largely uninhabited, but in the end they'd voted to stay. For now.

"I don't think so," said Sherljo standing up and shading her eyes. "I… Mother, they look like Breenava. But we didn't send out a foraging party and the herders aren't due back from the eastern slopes for at least two weeks."

It was only as they came much closer, that Mollyhoo was able to make out faces that she hadn't seen in years. They were older. She was older. She cried a bit as she had the gates opened to welcome them and their children. As it was their massive metal box was too large to come through the narrow gate.

Admittedly, it took far longer than it should have for her to realize, well, for Sherlock to realize, that they'd never met. That Sherjo, Johock, and Hamwil were and weren't related to Sherlock and John.

As it was, Mollyhoo was a little sorry that her own alpha daughter by Sherlock was scouting for Fenisal incursions. Zarabeth often became restless at the physical restrictions they had to place on alphas if there were any pregnant omegas in the settlement.

But the triplets had never had a reason to think they'd ever meet either of their parents in any form. Much less meet siblings. It did make Mollyhoo want to write a paper on nature versus nurture looking at them together.

Years away from old prejudices, and with an alpha child of her own, she could see the same spark in Sherlock's eyes.

When they settled down to talk, John, a John she'd never met, said, "We only came this way because one of the aardvark people that have been sending armies up this way said there was a settlement of people who looked like us living in this direction. Figured a cave's a cave, but other Humans was something worth finding. And our children were more than ready to meet new people."

John's eldest daughter, a beautiful alpha with her mother's eyes and father's lovely alpha scent, said, "People we aren't related to."

"Hells, yeah," said her twin. Their younger siblings murmured their agreement.

"You are going to love it here," said Johnho. "Other than the twins, we're about the only ones that…"

"Hey!" Mollyhoo held up a finger. "As I keep telling my children," she gave her own twins a hard look, "it will depend on the decision from the matriarch of each alignment." Given the tangled genetics of the settlement, the first generation omegas had decided it was important that reproduction be based on the careful records kept by the matriarchs. Returning to some of the old traditions for good reason.

Sarabeth snorted. "Not that everyone listens to that."

Mollyhoo smiled awkwardly. "The children born that first year have… it's more complicated to figure out whose related to who than you might think."

The evening's discussion took many turns. Time dilation or lack thereof. John's access, if limited, to medical supplies from something called a replicator on the shuttle. "We have to conserve power, but its come in handy for things like…" he glanced at Sherlock who was talking animatedly with Sherjo, "not spending the last twenty years getting continually knocked up by someone's magic cock."

Sherlock flushed, which indicated that his hearing was just as good as always.

John continued blithely. "No idea really what we would have done without access to modern meds. It's amazing what you lot have accomplished."

Since Mollyhoo did have an idea what would have happened to John, she went into a level of detail that... maybe she should have waited, but really knowledge was good. Not that this John or Sherlock could tell her what happened to her friends, who had simply disappeared. Even now she wondered what might have happened if she'd trusted Sherlock enough not to… ancient history now.

In answer to Mollyhoo's question about how they'd escaped the effects of time dilation, John said, "What time machine? We knew we'd gone back in time based on the star charts, but we crashed through a rift caused by a dekyon storm. The shuttle was too badly damaged to fly again and there simply weren't that many warp capable races in this sector at this time in history. We tried drawing a cave painting, but I guess no one got the message. Our ship, the Bakerstreet, never came."

Sarabeth broke in for a discussion of her mass art project in their former home in the cave system.

In the midst of that, there was a whispered and very worried reassurance from Sherljo to let Mollyhoo know that she would always consider Mollyhoo and Sarabeth their mothers. Since Mollyhoo and Sarabeth had raised the triplets through diapers, terrible twos, broken bones, early onset heat, and the vagaries of teen years. Mollyhoo squeezed her hand. "I know. It's okay if you want to know them too. There's enough love to go around."

She finally got an explanation of just what exactly was going on with Sherlock's genetics. "Oh, that's…" She sighed. "I want to reinvent refractive lenses, but there's only so much time in a life."

Still, it was lovely to talk science again with someone who'd gone to a university rather than people who'd learned everything they knew from her, and were now were trying to reinvent what she didn't have any background in.

A conversation that lasted long after the stars came out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And #3 ending for the story, if by no means the series. Still plenty of mysteries left. 
> 
> This story based on:  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/All_Our_Yesterdays_(episode)
> 
> But fairly relevant for my thinking for both this story and really the whole Breen plotline:  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Yesterday%27s_Son  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Time_for_Yesterday
> 
> Well, technically a later season Stargate Universe plot arc as well.


End file.
